Violet Eyes: The Dark Mark
by Felix Dovetail
Summary: Harry returns to school, dealing with newfound teenage angst and unexplained murders. But will he discover the identity of the girl with the violet eyes, even if it means his death? This novel-length fic is still in progress, but don’t let that stop you
1. A Return to the Usual

_Hi, and welcome to my story.  I really hope that you'll A: Enjoy this fic, and B: Read AT LEAST to Chapter 2.  I wanted to stay as close to J.K. Rowling's setup, so I went ahead and added this first chapter.  Really, it isn't needed.  Oh, anything you recognize here is property of J.K. Rowling, anything you don't is property of__ moi.  Oh, and if and when you review, please tell me how far you've read in the story!_

Violet Eyes 

**Chapter 1:  A Return to the Usual **

Harry lounged uncomfortably on his lumpy, sheetless mattress, sweaty from the abnormal temperatures.  Outside the window, heat lines radiated off the blacktop and a small dog panted in the shade of a small front porch.  While Number 4 Privet Drive usually had a blue BMW Z3 convertible parked in the driveway, a birthday gift for Dudley, the rubber tires had been melting, leaving dark spots on the concrete, so even it retired to the grass.  Harry's head, which often worked like a human barometer, was reacting to the weather with horrible pressure headaches.

While known for its balmy winters, it was generally accepted that the English summer thermometer would not pass 26°.  However, the last two weeks the temperature resided around 38°, making the entire Dursley household, not to mention most of Great Britain, fatigued and irritable.  Very few days passed where the news did not report accidents caused by drivers shooting others over minor incidents.  Even the trees and flowers gave up, bowing under the intense atmosphere.

Harry had been sure to bolt the bedroom latch before he lay down, as the aforementioned maladies had not neglected Dudley's temperament.  Harry could hear him through the floorboards, downstairs at that very moment, yelling at his mother.  "Why does Harry get to sit upstairs when I have to do the dishes?!  It's so unfair!  Just because some stupid wizard-"

"You will not use that kind of language in this house, young man!  It is inappropriate!  You know not to talk of Harry's… afflictions.  Besides, Harry has done enough for this family over the years.  It's time he gets a break."  Harry sighed and shook his head, displacing his already unruly hair.  Aunt Petunia would never have stood up for Harry had it not been for Tonk's, the Weasleys', and Mad-Eye Moody's threats.  He was pleased to have this simple protection, though he would be grateful to perform such a mindless task as the dishes, just to relieve the mental anguish he was experiencing.  It would be a long time before he saw any of the aforementioned again, and longer still before he saw Sirius.

He startled at a disturbance by the window, but was calmed to see only Hedwig, rustling her snowy-white wings.  She didn't mind the exhausting weather, and in fact, relished sunning herself in the piercing rays.  An idea of something to pass the time came to him.  He refused to stare at the pile of letters on his scratched desk, opened but unanswered.  "Hedwig, would you mind delivering something for me?" Harry asked, and the owl just cocked her head and hooted softly.

_'Ron,'  the letter started, _

_'How's your summer going?  Mine's the same as usual.  Just spending too much time in my room, avoiding the Dursleys.  Thanks so much for the riding gloves.  They will really help me out this year, especially with my grip on my broom.  I'm sure Slytherin will have the best in equipment (surprise, surprise) so any advantages I can gain are appreciated.  _

_'I recently received my O.W.L.s results in the mail, how about you?  I have to say, I had quite a range of grades.  I got an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts and an E in Charms, but I got an F in Divinination (at least I was able to predict that grade).  I got E's in both Transfiguration and Herbology, and an O in Care of Magical Creatures (I told Hermione that Hagrid was a good teacher.)  Of course, I got another F in Astronomy, but after what happened with Hagrid during the test last year, could anyone get any higher?  _

_'Amazingly I got an A in History of Magic and, get this, I GOT AN E IN POTIONS!!  How did that happen?!  I'm sure when Snape got the O.W.L. results he left a grease spot on the ceiling from jumping so high.  I know my score isn't high enough to get into his N.E.W.T. Potions class, but McGonagall knew I needed it to become an Auror, so she helped me out a little.  I can't imagine ever sweet-talking Snape, but she must have done a lot of it to get me into that class.  I'm also taking the N.E.W.T. levels of Defense Against the Dark Arts (like I wouldn't), Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, and Herbology.  I know that's one more N.E.W.T than I need, but I figure I might need an extra one in case I fail one of the other classes.  Bravery can only get you so far, right?_

_'I've been talking to Hermione about Sirius, but it's not helping much.  He was… well, the closest thing I had to a dad, but now he's gone.  It's like a dream, and I keep expecting to wake up and find a note from him, or a late birthday cake, or maybe a book on Quidditch: anything to tell me that he still thinks of me.  But everyday nothing comes, and inside, I know it won't.  I'm sorry to get all sappy on you like this, but it's something that weighs heavily on my mind.  I wonder if I'll ever find a real family, someone to come home to, to spend the holidays with.  But it seems I never will._

_On a livelier note: your gloves are definitely the best birthday gift I got this year.  You should see what Hermione sent me.  It's a cleaning trunk!  I mean, it's useful and all, but it's like getting… well, a cleaning trunk for my birthday!   At least I can finally wear some fresh laundry..  And it'll be bloody useful back at school.  _

_Well, I won't bore you with any more small talk, but I do hope I'll hear from you before school starts again.  I hope you're having fun this summer and…'  Harry paused here and gnawed the end of the quill.  Ending letters was never his strong suit.  __'…that Fred and George aren't playing too many tricks on you.'  There.  Funny _and_ a good wrap-up.  _

_'Your friend,_

_Harry'_

Harry sealed the letter using red wax and a generic "P" stamp and tied it gently to Hedwig's leg.  "You know where to go," he told her, and she hooted, then rubbed her beak gently on his cheek in reply.  "Just make sure you get back before I have to leave.  I'd hate to see you have to stay with the Dursleys all year."  The owl ruffled her feathers and looked annoyed, but indeed flapped away from the window at a faster-than-usual gait.  He watched her grow smaller on the horizon, until the glaring light left cobalt ghosts when he closed his eyes.  He was interrupted by a horrible rumbling from his stomach.  He hadn't eaten in hours: strangely he couldn't remember the last time he had.  He lifted his secret floorboard to find only the birthday cakes that Hagrid had sent.  He knew that, even if they were fresh, they still hardly qualified as edible.  He resigned to having to make a trip downstairs.

While sneaking across the living room, Uncle Vernon was the first and only to notice him.  He turned away from whatever mindless drivel he was watching on the tele to look Harry over.  "Tired of lazing around that mess you call a room?  I have half a mind to move you back into the cupboard."

"Actually, I was avoiding you," Harry retorted angrily.  "But I've obviously failed miserably."  He no longer feared the retributions of the Dursleys.  Now he had the upper hand. 

           "You don't deserve a room in this house, boy.  I've half a mind to throw you out on your-"

"That sounds like a wonderful thing to put in a letter, don't you think?"  Harry grinned slyly.  "A letter to my wizard friends?"  Uncle Vernon turned a strange shade of red and turned back to the dancing pictures without commenting.  Harry found the kitchen void of Dursleys, and was pleased that he could make himself a sandwich in peace.  As he spread mayonnaise over the bread, he caught a quick glimpse of the scar etched deeply in his hand: _'I will not tell lies.'  He remembered the cruel teacher that gave him that scar, and silently prayed that this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be capable, unlike most of them.  _'Isn't it ironic that most D.A.D.A. teachers are supposed to _protect__ us from evil, yet are irrevocably evil themselves?' he thought._

As he made his way upstairs with his sandwich, he noticed a pair of beady eyes watching him from behind a cracked door.  "Hello Dudley," Harry called nonchalantly, and the eyes quickly disappeared, leaving only a strange whimpering sound coming from inside the darkened room.

***

Harry waited restlessly on the corner, hoping that the Weasleys would not be late.  Harry didn't need to pull Ron's folded, crinkled letter from his pocket to ensure the time, but did so anyway, out of both doubt and boredom.  

_'Dear Harry,_

_Obviously, everything here is a bore as well.  I've only been helping Fred and George at their joke shop.  I'm unpaid labor, but I must say, it's given me a chance to learn and avoid all their tricks and jokes.  They haven't pranked me since the beginning of July!_

_The Order is hard at work to find He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but so far, no luck.  It seems that once again he's gone into hiding.  However, they've become even more secretive than before, if that's possible.  Mum and dad disappear at all hours and keep whispering to each other.  Not even Charlie and Bill know what's going on. _

_'About Sirius:  I just don't know what to say.  It was terrible to lose him, especially in the way that you did.  Please don't feel guilty, because Sirius loved you and wouldn't want you feeling like his end was your fault.  Instead, consider what good advice he gave you while he was here, and try to follow that.  You need a challenge, Harry, to keep your mind off last school year.  That's why I sent the book of puzzles.  Hopefully it will occupy your time.  I know that this is pretty bad advice, nothing like what Hermione writes, I'm sure, but I'm no good with this stuff, you know that._

_'Mum and dad will pick you up the day before we're supposed to leave, so that we can go get all of our supplies.  Just meet us at the corner of Daelia and __Persimmon Street__ on August 31st at __1:30_ and we'll be there to pick you up.__

_Ron'_

Harry sighed and did his best to shield his eyes from the blazing sun.  There were no cars coming from any direction, and it was already 1:45.  _'Looks like I'll be waiting a little longer.'_  The weather was certainly not optimal for waiting: it was the hottest that Harry had ever been in his life.  He was even thankful to be wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs: the oversized, dingy t-shirt was loose enough to let in plenty of air.  The longer he was forced to sit in the intolerable heat, the more irritated he became.  He began to wonder how the Weasleys would react if, when they finally did arrive, Harry had returned to the Dursleys'.  At least it was air conditioned.

  Suddenly Harry heard shrill horn honking in the distance.  A black sedan was speeding down the street, veering crazily from one lane to another.  As it got closer to him, the honking became more insistent and the driving more irrational*.  The vehicle hopped the crumbling curve easily, barely missed the street signpost, and, had he not dove into the road, Harry would most certainly have been clipped.  Screeching brakes left dark tire marks down the sidewalk and the smell of burnt rubber in the air.

The driver side door swung open to reveal a laughing, red-faced Ginny.  "This thing is bloody brill, Harry!  Why didn't you tell me cars were so fun?!"  He grabbed his heaving chest, trying to recover after his almost-near-death experience.  _'She's not even _old_ enough to drive a car!'_

"I wouldn't know," he finally replied.  "I've never driven one."  _'Though I'd like to know why you are,_' he pondered silently.  He looked at the rest of the redheaded passengers in the cars, all varying shades of greenish-gray.  

"Yeah, fun for her," Ron muttered under his breath, then scooted over to make room for Harry on the leather bench seat.  

Mr. Weasley got out of the passenger seat and began loading his baggage into the magically enlarged trunk.  "It was difficult, but I finally talked the Ministry into letting me borrow one of their auto-moobiles."  Harry smiled, but did not attempt to correct his grammatical error.  "Now Ginny's going to ruin all my hard work by wrecking it.  She's worse than the twins behind the wheel."  

Although Mrs. Weasley stiffened at the mention of her two sons, Ginny just rolled her eyes and revved the engine impatiently.  "Let's go!"

The trip to London was fast, albeit terrifying.  Harry whispered in Ron's ear if they were using some sort of spell to travel faster, but Ron lifted his queasy head from between his knees and shook it.  Other cars were mere blurs beside them and Mrs. Weasley's hands were white from gripping the door handle so hard.  Once in the city, she careened around the sharp turns, ignoring the honking drivers she cut off.  Harry worried about Hedwig, who was currently being jostled back and forth in the trunk.  

They arrived in front of the Leaky Cauldron far sooner than Harry ever thought possible.  Mr. Weasley was sure to tell Ginny that _he would park the car, and to meet him inside Diagon Alley.  Once past the complicated brick façade, Mrs. Weasley pulled out the supply lists.  "Well, Harry, you're going to need fire-and-acid-repellent dragonskin gloves for your Potions class and probably some new dress shirts."  She eyed his graying Oxford critically.  "Also, it seems that another dance will be held, as you need dress robes.  Would you like new ones, or would you prefer the ones from the other year?"_

"Those green ones I have are just fine."  

Mrs. Weasley pulled out a quill and began marking off items as she named them.  She told him reluctantly "Ron, you'll also be needing some dress robes-"

"Oh, no I won't."  Fred and George, sticking to their word, had bought Ron a stylish set of royal blue robes, though they refused to divulge their benefactor.  They were far nicer than any used robes Mrs. Weasley would provide.

His mother, unaware of this transaction, placed her hand on her hip.  "I won't have you wearing those ones I bought you for the Yule Ball.  They _could have been used again, but you positively destroyed those.  Ragged sleeves, uneven hem…"  Potter laughed as Mrs. Weasley continued to name the robe's faults, but also felt a twinge of jealousy.  Despite its annoyances, he longed for a bit of mothering._

"We'll also need some books, and Ginny, you said you needed a new cauldron, didn't you?"  The group set down the alley, stopping in different shops to retrieve the requested items.

They even visited the twins' shop, filled that day with children and adults alike.  It seemed that many people wanted to pull jokes on their friends and get revenge on their enemies.  Harry enjoyed seeing the different items on sale, most of which were original inventions of the two brothers.  However, once Fred and George began arguing with Mrs. Weasley about returning to school, he felt a sudden need to get out of the crammed store.  

Harry searched the bustling street, but saw none of his other classmates and friends.  Hermione would have met them there, but she was visiting Viktor Krum at his summer home and would not be returning until the day school started.  Harry had already received a picture with Viktor flying his broom and Hermione hanging on the back for dear life.  As he watched, Hermione's face would change from horror to nausea, and occasionally beg Viktor to "land this crazy thing!"

When he showed it to Ron, the redhead looked ill.  "Well, they seem to be having fun," he sniffed.  _'Did he really sound  jealous or am I imagining it?'  Harry wondered.  _'He couldn't like… no, of course not.'_  But he still wasn't convinced._

By the time they left Diagon Alley, both the boys were loaded down with more books than ever before and everyone had a huge bag of Droobles Best Blowing Gum, a present from Harry.  "So Harry, do you think you'll be able to read all of those?"  Ginny asked teasingly.  Harry, looked over at her, surprised she was acting so flirtatious.  He thought she'd given up her childish crush years ago.  However, when he looked at her freckled face, he saw no sign of attraction whatsoever, but rather the creases of confusion.  However, as she quickly read him, she raised an eyebrow.  "Just because a girl talks to you, doesn't mean she's attracted to you.  I would think you of all people would know that."

"That wasn't what I was thinking," he lied, checking out her slender physique, then silently reprimanding himself.  "And to answer your question: I bought a few Crag-notes."

"Don't let mom see you with those.  She's liable to send you a Howler."  

Harry laughed.  "I'd rather get a Howler from her than have Filch find them.  He'd probably lock me in the dungeon."

Ron, who'd been walking ahead slowed down and joined the conversation.  "Sounds more like something Snape would do.  How are you going to survive his N.E.W.T. class?"

"What?!"  shrieked Ginny.  "You mean, you had a choice to take that class, and you actually decided to?!"

"I need it to be an Auror!  I thought _Hermione_ was rude when I broke the news to her, and _she's_ taking the class.  But you two definitely beat her reaction!"  He did his best to look offended, but was unable to hide his toothy grin.

"If I were you, Harry," replied Ginny, shaking her head, "I'd pick a different profession."

*Irrational driving experience inspired by trips in my ex-boyfriend's car lol


	2. The Mysterious Stranger

**Chapter 2:  The Mysterious Stranger**

"Hermione?" Ron asked warily, his voice cracking.  Harry saw the girl walking from the other side of the train station and silently mirrored Ron's reaction.  She had slicked back her hair and was dressed stylishly in a pair of dark-denim jeans and a mauve three-quarter sleeved side-tie blouse.  Her small heels accented the curves of her legs and he had to stop his jaw from dropping.  However, Ron did not exercise such control.

"I was waving, you guys.  Why didn't you wave back?" Hermione asked once she reached them.

"I didn't recognize you," Harry replied.  "Why are you so dressed up?"

"I just got off the train from… up North.  I was just- Ron, what's wrong with you?"

He finally closed his mouth.  "Catching my breath.  How was your trip?"

"Oh, just fine.  I'm not looking forward to spending any more time on a train.  Where's the rest of your family?"  She looked around, hoping to spot the redheads.

"Oh, well, my dad's at work, but my mom took Ginny to get a soda."

"Darn.  I wanted to say 'hi,' but we need to get going."

Harry nodded.  "Yeah, the train's about to leave.  Ginny had better hurry."

As the walked toward the train, Ron grabbed one of Hermione's many matching suitcases.  "Sit by me on the train?"

***

They arrived at Hogwarts late that afternoon, with a crimson sun sliding below the horizon.  Hermione was strangely quiet and refused to talk about her trip up North.  Still, in all the ride was uneventful; even Malfoy and his goons had not paid the compartment their yearly visit.  

After exchanging hellos with Hagrid, the first years separated and the other students filed along the road, where they met their rides.  Once again, Harry found the thestrals pulling the carriages disturbing, but drew comfort from the fact that now all his friends could see them as well.  They rode to the castle, then filed in through the great stone doorway of the gigantic school.

Harry joined the other students sitting in the Great Hall, talking loudly to friends they had not seen in months.  Constantly people were reaching over the table to give high-fives, hugs, and even the occasional pecks, although both involved looked around nervously for any spying staff.  Hermione was currently leaning over Luna Lovegood's seated figure at the Ravenclaw table, having as private a conversation as one could in a room filled with people. 

Fellow Gryffindors constantly came over to share summer stories of varying degrees of interest.  However, Harry was surprised by the amount of other students that nervously approached him.  "So Harry, we haven't talked in awhile.  Remember that one time in Herbology when Neville was bitten by the Mulungus green beans?!  ….No?  Oh…so… how did your summer go?"  Everyone was aware of what happened at the Ministry of Magic last June after the article in the Daily Prophet, and wanted to know more that fateful night.  However, most were too afraid or nervous to ask Harry directly, and his other housemates were too respectful to do so.  He appreciated not having to relive that night, but he hoped Dumbledore would allay the other's fears so that he could avoid the uncomfortable encounters with (almost) complete strangers.

A hush came over the room as Dumbledore and the rest of the professors filed in behind the head table and took their seats.  Students scrambled to join their fellow houses, but the headmaster finished his conversation with Professor Sprout before he stood to speak.  "Welcome to yet another year here at Hogwarts.  I'm glad to see so many faces ready to experience academic catharsis.  I have many announcements to make, but it is important that the first years are present to hear them.  Also, since classes start tomorrow, I'm hoping we could finish this feast today.  Therefore, let the Sorting Ceremony begin."

The massive doors in the back of the hall creaked open on ancient hinges.  The students that began filing into the room reminded Harry of toddlers.  He frustrated himself trying to remember what he looked like at that age.  "What's going on?" a blonde-tufted boy nervously asked the student in front of him.  Harry reflected on the confusion and fear he had felt on his Sorting Day and the frivolity of it all was obvious after recent events.  

Professor McGonagall, who had been herding the gawking first years into the large room, pushed past them and placed a dilapidated hat on a stool at the front of the hall.  Too busy staring at the charmed ceiling, floating candelabras, and the other students, the youngsters did not notice the headpiece until a seam near the rim split, a ragged mouth, and burst into song.

_"Eons before this Sorting Hat was made _

_Four wizards created an accolade_

_Dedicated to teaching magical arts,_

_The wizards contributed their separate parts_

_Each wanted students to work as a whole,_

_But they divided, did not reach their goal_

_To prepare Wizards (and witches as well)_

_To reflect and fight one terrible spell._

_A war is coming, a force grows stronger,_

_But to practice we have a little longer._

_That is why we must each join together,_

_All the Hogwarts houses, for the better._

_For the Hufflepuff house, though kind and loyal,_

_Cannot survive without Slytherin, its cunning foil._

_And while Gryffindor has bravery abound,_

_Ravenclaw keeps the Lion thinking sound._

_Everyone must choose where they want to be,_

_And their destined house I will help them see,_

_So once you listen to my yearly song,_

_The Sorting Hat tells you where you belong!_

_But be warned: Divided is torn."_

"At least it was short this year," Ron muttered, barely audible under the echoing applause.  

"Anderson, Jackie," announced McGonagall.  A vivacious redhead walked up and sat on the stool.  Many of the students were whispering between the tables.  Like everyone who'd been paying attention, they were worried and confused about the last line: "Divided is torn."  The Sorting Hat had passed on a similar wisdom last year, so to hear it yet again was both comforting and disconcerting.  It meant that, as of yet, last year's advice had heeded no ill will, but it also meant that what triggered the warning had not yet happened.

Hermione frowned at Ron across the table.  "I happen to _like the Sorting Hat's songs: they're very creative."  _

"You'd be creative too, if all year long all you did was loaf around and write songs."

"Why must you always be so pessimistic?"

"Why are you always so upbeat, Miss Sunshine?"  Harry ignored his bickering friends and their love/hate relationship.  '_Gee, I wonder who won't be on speaking terms for a month,'_ he sarcastically thought to himself.  However, the argument did not escalate, and the two were fine by the time McGonagall called, "Yeager, Eric."

The hat, back on the stool, became inanimate once again.  Eric filled the last open spot at the Hufflepuff table and the ceremony's noise was replaced by the groaning of the old tables as huge plates of mashed peas, shepherd's pie, blood sausage, turkey and gravy, stewed carrots, and fried fish suddenly appeared.  The smells wafting from the food turned Harry's already queasy stomach.   

He instead studied the head table and was surprised to see that Hagrid's chair was empty.  "Did either of you see where Hagrid went off to?"  

"Whu' are uo' alkin' abou?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of mashed peas.

"Well, Hagrid was here earlier: he said hi when I was outside.  But now he's not.  Do you think something's happened?"  

"Well, if he was here earlier," deduced Hermione, "then he's obviously not on some secret mission."  The mention of a secret mission did not start Harry's memories of Hagrid's absence last year, but rather the events deep within the bowels of the Ministry.  "He's probably just taking care of Fang or talking to Filch."  As she caught sight of Harry's plate, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.  "Harry, I know you're upset, but that doesn't mean you should stop eating."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "I had a lot on the train, I'm not really hungry."

"No you didn't," Ron retorted.  "All you got was a chocolate frog.  Although you did eat half my bag of Every Flavor Beans, you git."

Hermione placed her soft hand on his.  "Your unhappiness won't bring Sirius back.  If he was here, he would say the same."  

He choked back his tears and managed to glare at his friend.  "I suppose you expect me to match Ron bite for bite?"

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, revealing his chewed-up sausage.  Hermione grimaced.

The conversation ended, but Harry was sure to grab a bowl of spotted dick when dessert appeared.  He had to admit, the spicy pudding warmed and comforted him.  As he finished, Seamus Finnegan turned to them and asked, "Oy, you three see the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"  They all turned to study the slight Asian man talking to Professor McGonagall .  "I hear he's really a secret ninja, here from Japan!"

"Get off it, Seamus."  Hermione rolled her eyes.  "You've been watching too much tele."

Dumbledore, who had been surveying the room to ensure the meal had been finished, stood and cleared his throat.  "I'd like to start by complementing the chefs.  The forest on grounds is, as usual, off limits to _all_ students, even those who have ventured there before."  (Harry thought he saw the wizened man wink at him.)  

"Isn't that why they call it the Forbidden Forest?" Dean Thomas whispered sarcastically, and all that heard him snickered.

"Also, Filch demands that no magic is performed in the hall, and that each students stops by his office to see the list of forbidden items," he paused, then added, "which has finally grown considerably longer than my beard.  Tryouts for the Quidditch House teams will be posted in your common rooms" (Harry was sure he winked at him this time) "and Jessica Feltty, your mother's owl dropped off your suitcase, which you forgot, so please claim that from Filch at the end of the ceremony.

"We have a new teacher with us this year: Professor Kenchi."  The small man, dressed in rich chocolate robes stood and gave a slight bow to the audience.  "Kenchi will be teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.  I'm hoping it will be a unique and mind-opening experience.  

"But on to far more important matters."  At this a grave shadow covered the headmaster's face and Harry realized how old he truly was.  "I'm sure all of you have heard that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indeed returned.  I have received many letters from your parents expressing concern for your safety here at Hogwarts.  I assure you, as long as you act responsibly, you are safe from his threats.  There may be a need to enact stringent rules foreign to Hogwarts, but keep in mind: these are for you and your fellow students' safety.  This school is well guarded, both by spells and by wizards and witches.  I can promise, as long as you are on this property, _he will not harm a single one of you."  Silence filled the room, as all wide-eyed faces stared at Dumbledore.  "Well, what are you waiting for?  Don't stare at me all night, get to your houses."_

The crowd began to move toward the door, but through the ruckus Harry saw Dumbledore rushing to the hallway, slipping between groups of students.  "Where's he going in such a hurry?" he wondered aloud.

Hermione was quickly at his side.  "Who's going where?"

"Dumbledore.  Didn't you see him practically run out of here?"  

She looked back and forth down the stone corridor.  "I don't see him now.  Which way did he go?"  

"That way, I'm pretty sure.  Think we should follow?"

"I have to take the first years up to the tower, remember?  Besides, it's a little early to get ourselves in trouble."  She smiled slyly.  "We should wait until _at least_ October."

Harry sighed.  "I'll meet you up in the common room and fill you in.  Tell Ron to wait up for me too."  

Hermione shook her head, but turned to shoo the younger students up the stairs.  Before out of sight, she quickly shouted back to him, "The new password is slimy limey!"

He moved quickly down the hall, but was sure to keep his steps light and quiet.  Without his invisibility cloak, Harry was vulnerable to detection by any of the teachers, or worse, Filch.  He wasn't sure why he was following the headmaster: perhaps the other students were right about his need to play the hero.  However, he felt justified in his actions, after hearing the prophecy.  Any information that would help him in his fight against Voldemort was increasingly important.

As Harry entered the damp, black dungeon, he pulled his wand from his robe's waist and whispered, 'lumos.'  Instantly light emitted from his wand, chasing the shadows to the corners of the passageway.  He heard footsteps ahead of him and knew he was on the right track.  He hurried past Snape's classroom and was startled to realize he was an in unfamiliar area of the castle.  While Hogwart's was indeed huge, the largest structure for miles, after six years, Harry thought he knew every cranny of the school, especially since he spent so much time exploring after hours.  

At a junction in the hall, he stopped and listened for the echoing sounds of Dumbledore's shuffling shoes.  After a couple more turns, the corridor opened into a spacious hall lined with pillars.  The ceiling was low and lit with what looked to be glowworms or fireflies.  It twinkled with an odd blue radiance.  He could see through the dimness the harbor he once came to as a first year and the headmaster kneeling at the water's edge.  A rowboat pulled up next to the stone ledge and Harry, from his hiding spot near the back of the hall, could barely make out its passengers.  

Hagrid's silhouette was unmistakable, but the smaller, cloaked figure… Harry guessed that, from the person's size and shape she must be a woman, but a white hooded cloak covered her hair and face.  Dumbledore gracefully took her hand and helped her from the boat.  "Was your travel all right?" he asked, smiling at the girl.

"Yes, yes, it was fine."  Harry realized the she had a strange accent, probably American.  "Hagrid made a wonderful companion.  I've never flown by broom before, so it was wonderful to have someone so experienced."  Hagrid blushed at this complement, certainly considering how little broom practice he had after his expulsion.  

"If yer ever needin' anythin' else, just let ol' Hagrid know."  He bowed, then grabbed the ledge as the boat began to tip under his immense weight.  The girl turned and laughed, not maliciously, but in a way that brought smiles to the faces of all who heard it, and as she did, her hood slipped off.  

Harry could not stop his sharp intake of breath and was relieved when no one seemed to notice the sound.  The girl's wavy, light blond locks framed her face, rounding her cheeks and leaving an almost cherubic sense about her.  Her heart-shaped lips were dark and bee-stung, and led to immoral thoughts of his lips meeting hers, sucking on her soft mouth.  He shook his head, embarrassed by his reaction.  

Her skin was pale, but it matched the sense of fragility she radiated.  But what shocked Harry the most were her eyes.  They were a deep violet, a color that Harry had only seen once before.  He could not remember why they looked so familiar, but the vague memory felt wrong, leaving a crawling sensation down his spine.  With further inspection, he could see that her gaze held none of the negativity of his immediate reaction, but he could not understand this similarity.  Nor why he could not look away from her startlingly beautiful visage.  

"I assume that I will be joining Sever- I mean, Professor Snape in the Slytherin House?" she asked Dumbledore, grinning sweetly.  She looked away to wave goodbye to Hagrid, then returned her attention to the older man, careful not to break eye contact.  Harry only wished she would look at him like that.

"Actually, I thought I'd let an outside party decide," he answered, producing the Sorting Hat from within his generous, flowing robes.  He smoothed her hair down to allow room for the musty headpiece, but as he did so, one of the large silver bangles that adorned the mysterious girl's head fell to the floor and rolled across the rough stones, stopping mere feet from Harry's darkened alcove.  His heart jumped within his chest, then stopped altogether.  'They're going to see me, they'regoingtoseeme, ohgodthey'regoingtofindmeandDumbledore

willneverforgiveme…'  Blood rushed to his ears and the drowned out the headmaster's and girl's hushed words. 

"I'll get that for you, my dear."

"Don't bother, I'll grab it."  Her white cloak barely rustled as she walked silently toward the dropped accessory.  Harry's rushing mind stopped to ponder the fact that the bangle had been the loudest sound the girl had made so far.  As she bent to pick it up, her eyes caught the wingtips of his scuffed dress shoes.  White appeared around her violet irises as her eyes grew wide.  She followed his form to see his shocked, terrified face.  'Will she tell Dumbledore?'  No movement.  No breath.  No heartbeat.  The air stood still as she simply stared openmouthed at the discovered boy. 

"Are you all right?" the headmaster called.  The spell was broken and she quickly averted her eyes from Harry's.  

"Yes, just admiring the architecture of this school.  It looks terribly, wonderfully old.  How do you keep it in such good condition?"  She walked back towards the wharf, but motioned behind her back towards the door.  Her message to Harry was clear:  'LEAVE.'  As soon as Dumbledore's attention was turned back to the mysterious stranger, Harry fled back down the hallway.  His last sight was the Sorting Hat again placed on her head.  

By the time he was done running, he was far out of earshot, and certainly out of breath.  As he leaned against the cold granite wall, he deliberated what he just saw.  _'Who is she?  Why didn't she arrive with the other first years?  She's certainly too old to be a first year.  Why does she have such familiar eyes?  Why do I feel so strange?'  The last question bothered Harry the most.  Despite all the trouble he would cause, he was desperate to catch another glimpse of this late-night visitor.  Stranger, he wanted nothing more than to lock eyes with her again, to pit amethyst against emerald and see who would blink first.  __'You need a challenge, Harry:' Ron's words echoed in his head.  That girl would be quite a challenge, all right.  Her very identity was a puzzle.  He sighed and began walking quickly down the corridor, careful to use 'lumos' only when it was desperately needed._

As Harry reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, one last question crossed his mind.  _'What do I tell Ron and Hermione?'_  However, he had already spoken the new password, revealing his two best friends waiting in the common room, eager to hear his adventures.

_OKAY, now it's time for the reader's opinion.  Should I even continue the fic?  Are you interested?  Also, anything that doesn't fit, anything I should address, etc?  Please give me a review! _


	3. Animosity

**Chapter 3: Animosity**

"Harry, did you find Dumbledore?"  Hermione was on the couch, but her inquisitive eyes were already focused on him.  While he wanted to tell his friends the truth, he had an odd urge to keep the mystery girl to himself.  He felt himself strangely possessive of the experience, as if it were a priceless treasure, meant only for his eyes.  He felt guilty, but feared telling his friends would take away from of the magic of the moment.

"Oh, yeah, he was just running to the bathroom.  I was talking to Cho Chang in the hall: that's why I took so long."  His friends nodded knowingly.  

"I hope she's over Cedric by now," Ron blurted, then blushed.

Hermione smiled, and softly added, "I'm sure that it would be all right to pursue something more than friendship with her.  She's had a long time to consider past experiences."  Shame reddened Harry's cheeks.  He hadn't thought of Cho once since last year, but he hadn't stopped thinking of the girl in the white cloak since he saw her.

Hermione sensed his inner turmoil.  "Ron, would you mind if I spoke to Harry for a bit?"  

"Oh, sure."  He got up from his armchair and headed toward the stairs.  "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Wizard Chess tomorrow evening?"

"Oh, sure.  Sounds good." 

As soon as Ron disappeared into the boys' dormitory Hermione motioned for Harry to join her on the settee.  "Harry, I know there's a lot bothering you- don't try to tell me otherwise.  I want to help you.  That's what friends are for."

"Are you talking about Cho Chang?"  The heat of his face slowly crept down his neck and below his collar.

"Honestly, I'm not much help when it comes to relationships.  I can't even handle one of my own."  She looked away from Harry's face and stared angrily into the fire.

"Did things not go well at Viktor's this summer?"

She turned back to his green eyes.  "Let's just say he was ready for things I wasn't.  Besides, I couldn't stop thinking about-" stopping suddenly, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

            Silence ensued until Harry's curiosity took over.  "Thinking about who?"  His cocky grin spread from cheek to cheek as Hermione squirmed in her seat.

            "I was thinking about- none of your business.  If I wanted you to know who my crush is, I would tell you.  Besides, we're _supposed to be talking about you."  _

            His grin quickly disappeared with her dispersal of his question.  He knew why he couldn't eat and was racked with nightmares.  "Even if I explained, I don't think you would understand."

            "Try me."

            "I really miss… I really miss Sirius.  I mean, if you ever need anything whether it's pocket money or advice, you can go to your parents.  All I have is some sixteen year-olds."

            Hurt flashed in her eyes.  "Harry, I'm going to ignore that comment, because I know you don't mean it offensively.  I understand.  Sometimes you just need an older aspect on troubles in your life.  Sirius was that for you.  But you can't forget, there are still people- adults- that love you.  What about Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore?  Even the Weasleys would be more than happy to give you some parenting."

            "It's really hard to go to Hagrid and McGonagall and Dumbledore, because they're my teachers.  I could end up asking something incriminating.  Besides, they have their own worries.  And the Weasleys are great, but I can't horde Ron's parents.  No matter how much they care for me, they'll never love me as much as they do their own kids."  He sighed and laid his head on Hermione's shoulder.  

Absently stroking his hair, she replied, "You've been through a lot.  I couldn't even list it all.  It's especially cruel that, once you finally found a father figure, you lost him as well.  You really deserve someone like that in your life.  But you found Sirius when you were 13.  It's very possible that you could find another person close to you.  Even if it's not a parent, I'm sure you'll find true love.  It will be a different kind of relationship, but it will help fill that void you're feeling."

"Hermione," Harry asked quietly, staring up at her, looking ever the small child, "is this as good as it's going to get?  I mean, what do we truly have to look forward to?" 

Tears came to her eyes.  "Harry, you should never think that way.  There are so many experiences ahead of you- things you never even imagined you'd do.  You'll have your job, eventually a marriage, and perhaps even children of your own.  To think that this is the best life has to offer is truly ludicrous."  She laughed.  "You couldn't possibly think that going to school with Draco Malfoy is the pinnacle of your life, could you?"  Harry joined in her giggling.

            They both headed to their respective sleeping quarters, but Harry stopped right before heading up the stairs.  "You didn't see any new students in here, did you?  I mean, someone besides the first years.  Someone who got here between the end of the feast and when I got back?"

            Chewing her lip, she replied, "No, if there is anyone new here, he or she would have to have gotten here before the Sorting Ceremony."

            "Oh, ok.  Sleep well."

            "You too, Harry."

            As he got to his dorm, moonlight revealed that his trunk and other luggage had already been delivered.  _'House elves,' he silently figured, and pulled off his shiny, black shoes.  Neville's noisy snoring, along with Ron's deep breathing told him that he was the only one awake in the room.  Too tired to fully undress, he fell into bed with his robes still on and drifted into a sleep occupied with vivid purple eyes and the girl who possessed them.  _

***

Harry awoke to the sounds of activity.  Ron and Neville were sloppily pulling on their robes.  "Harry!" Ron shouted.  "Hurry up, we missed wake up and we're going to be late!"

"Why didn't you get me up sooner?!"

"Don't you think we tried?  I even poked you in the nose with my wand.  You didn't budge."  Ron was attempting unsuccessfully to yank his pants over his shoes.

"How about taking the shoes off and trying again?"  Harry suggested sarcastically.  "You guys can go down without me.  I'll be a couple minutes getting dressed."  He wanted to fix his hair and try to make himself look presentable, in hopes he would meet the mystery student.  However, no amount of work would get his hair to sit properly atop his head.  "Bloody mop," he muttered, resigned to having it mussed.  He changed out of the robes he slept in, and made sure that all of his uniform was neater than usual.  When it came to his tie, he had great difficulty.  His shaking hands could not seem to get it straight.  Despite not eating the evening before, his nerves had demolished any appetite.  Nevertheless, after passing a rigorous inspection in the mirror, he headed to breakfast.

As Harry came into the Great Hall, he noticed a strange disturbance at the Gryffindor table.  A large group of students, including those from other houses, as well as Ron and Hermione, were crowded around someone or something, talking loudly.  '_What on earth is going on?'  he wondered.  Ginny was alone, sulkily sipping her pumpkin juice.****_

"Met the new girl yet?"  She asked him moodily.

            "New girl?  What's so special about some first year?" he asked, before realizing it was probably the stranger from the dock.

"She's not a first year.  She's in the same class as you.  Oh, and she's foreign, she's funny, and completely gorgeous."  Ginny flashed a glare that way.  "She's not even been here a whole day, and already half the school is in love with her."

"Why are you so upset?  She's probably part veela."

"Naw, she doesn't look like one.  And to answer your question: just look at who's over there."  Harry saw, in the crowd, Ginny's boyfriend, Dean Thomas.  He seemed flushed, like some boy in puppy love.  

"I'll go get him for you," Harry reassured, then went to gather his best friends.  He tapped Dean on the shoulder as he passed.  "Your girlfriend wants to talk to you."

"Oh, yeah…," he replied absently, "I'll talk to her in a minute."  

Harry's curiosity took over and he stood on tiptoe to get a look at the new arrival.  She was grinning ear-to-ear, apparently enjoying the attention.  Her strawberry-blonde hair swished as she looked from gatherer to gatherer.  "Yes, well, your hall is certainly larger than my old school's.  Then again, we had a lot less students to fill ours."  As she laughed, her cobalt blue eyes flashed.  Harry had to admit, she was the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.  Still, he was disappointed: he thought she might be the girl he had glimpsed in the dungeon.

He saw Hermione and cut through the swath of people to reach her.  "What's so interesting?"

"Oh, the new girl.  She's really nice.  You should say hello."

"Does she have a name, or just go by new girl?" 

"Her name is A.M. Kinter and she just transferred from some school in Canada.  She would have been sorted, but she was feeling ill and stayed in her room since the time she got here."

"Oh… so, you want to go sit and eat something?"

"No," Hermione answered, not even looking at Harry.  "I already ate, but feel free to grab something for yourself."  Annoyance crept into the back of his mind.  _'What's so special about this girl, anyway?'_   

"Ron," he said, trying hard to get his friend's attention.  No response.  "Ron," he called louder.  "RON!"  Yelling, Harry grabbed his friend by the arm.

"Geroff me!  What's your problem?"  

"What's up with everybody?  They're all in love with this new girl."

"She's real nice and funny, too.  She said she'd help me with my History homework later."

"I thought we were going to play Wizard Chess later.  Besides, you don't even have homework yet."

"I'm sorry, I forgot.  Besides, I know I'll have plenty of homework after today, and we can play Wizard Chess anytime."  Harry was stung by his friend's words.  Jealousy overtook him.  After not seeing his friends for the entire summer, he thought they would want to spend time with him.  But the way everyone was acting, he felt utterly dejected.  Already he disliked whoever this A.M. girl was.

"Oh, hello."  The sweet voice startled Harry from his bitter thoughts.  A.M. was standing in front of him now, arm outstretched, waiting to shake his hand.  "You must be Harry Potter."

"How do you know my name?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just because I'm from Canada doesn't mean I'm clueless.  Besides…" she pointed to his forehead and the lighting bolt scar.  "I'm A.M. Kinter-"

"I know who you are." 

"Oh, okay."  She looked confused and disconcerted by Harry's terse manner.  "Well, it's nice to meet you.  Apparently, we'll be taking some classes together.  And we're in the same house.  Oh, and I met your friends, Ron and Hermione-"

"Yeah, Ron and I were going to play Wizard Chess this evening," he interjected briskly.  Harry was startled by his own actions.  He had never felt this sort of unprovoked animosity, especially not toward someone he'd just met.  Perhaps it was protectiveness of his friends, or just jealousy of the attention she received.  While he disliked the amount of attention he got, he missed having it just as much.

"Oh, and I told him I'd help him with his homework!  I'm really sorry, Harry.  I'll just cancel."  She looked genuinely apologetic, and Harry stifled his need to smile at the cute worry lines that appeared on her forehead.

"Fine, I'll see you around."  He turned before she had a chance to reply and sat down next to Ginny.

"I suppose you're in love with her too?" she inquired.

"Not my type," he replied.  He refused to pay attention to the butterflies dancing in his stomach, or the perspiration beneath his arms.  Instead he turned to some sausage links on the table.  As he did more dissecting than eating of his food, he searched the immense room.  The girl was nowhere to be seen.  _'Could she have just been my imagination?'_  He looked at the mess on his plate in disgust, and pushed it towards the middle of the table.

"You know, a friend of my mum's wouldn't eat anything," Ginny commented, pointing to Harry's leftovers.  "Said it all made her ill.  You know what was wrong with her?"

"What?" he asked absently, still looking from face to face.

"She was pregnant."

"So I suppose you want me to pee on a stick?"  Harry tried his hardest not to join her pealing gales.  

"Just thought I'd warn you."  Harry got up and flicked her ear as he went by.  Ginny just laughed louder.

As he walked around the room to get a better view of the other students, he noticed a large figure at the head table.  _'Of course!'  He ran to the up to the half-giant, excitement overtaking him.  "Hagrid, can I talk to you?!"_

"Well, Harry, what seems to be yer problem?"  Concern gathered in deep wrinkles around his eyes.

"I _have to talk to you in private."_

Hagrid walked into the hallway as Harry following behind, and looked quickly to ensure they were alone.  "What's goin' on?"

"Who was that girl you were with last night?  I have to know."

"What girl?  You mean one of the firs' years-" 

"No, I mean the one in the boat.  In the white cloak."

"I don't know what yer talkin' about."  But his eyes shifted, and he was licking his lips.  Certain signs of lying.

A girl Harry recognized to be in Hufflepuff walked past them, staring at the strange, reversed picture of a teacher being questioned by a student.  As soon as she turned the corner, Harry asked, "Seriously Hagrid, who was she?  I'm going to lose it if I can't see her again."

Hagrid placed his immense hands on Harry's skinny shoulders.  "There was no girl last night, so the best thing to do is forget yeh ever saws her an' Dumbledore."

Harry grinned at his friend's slipup.  "I didn't say Dumbledore was there."

Hagrid once again checked for any spies, got down on his knees to ensure no one would hear.  "Harry, I don't know how yeh saws," Hagrid blustered, "but I guarantee it's a mess, so don't involve yerself.  An' don't ask me fer information, because I can't tells ya."

"Please Hagrid," Harry was practically begging.  The girl brought him to desperation.  "Just tell me her name."

Hagrid looked him in the eyes, stone serious.  "Just to know her name means almost certain death fer ya.  Likes I said, it's best to forget yeh ever saws her."  He turned away, despite Harry's calls, and returned to the head table.  

Harry stood there in the corridor, even as students began filing around him, hurrying to their classes.  He had been so close to what he truly wanted, but unable to grasp it.  Certainly this girl wasn't as bad as Hagrid described.  He remembered her sweet smile, and kind eyes, and could not imagine his old friend's warnings.  Hermione finally found him still in the clouds and shook him from his thoughts.  "Harry, don't just stand there.  Can you imagine if we were late?"

"Huh?  Late for what?"

"Harry, have you forgotten already?  We have Snape's Potions class."  Though he thought it impossible, his heart sank lower.


	4. Changes in the Curriculum

**Chapter 4:  Changes in the Curriculum**

            **Author's Note:  _I have been trying to post every Friday, but that isn't really happening.  Therefore, if you wish to receive notice when I post, send me an email, and I will be sure to put you on a mailing list.  Thank you for your time._**

            Both Harry and Hermione sprinted through the dungeon doors right on time, panting with the exertion of their run.  Professor Snape looked up at the two under lowered eyebrows.  "Everyone, it seems that Ms. Granger and Mr. Potter have decided to join us at last."  Having learned from past experiences, Harry did not respond, despite the time on the clock, but rather took a spot at an empty table.

            "Welcome to my N.E.W.T level Potions class.  As you all know, this is a much longer class than usual: three hours, and will also be continued next year.  Please note: if you do not pass the class this year, you will be unable to attend next year's segment and you will take an automatic F on your N.E.W.T..  This should be all the warning I ever have to give you."  Already Snape was resorting to his arrogance and intimidation tactics.

            "As you all know, those of you who didn't get teachers to bribe your way into the class," he threw a bloodcurdling glare at Harry, "received O's on your O.W.L.s.  You should be commended on your excellent scores.  Hermione, who had taken her place next to Harry, smiled proudly and settled back into her seat.  "However, you should be warned that the potions we will be making are extremely dangerous.  If you don't think you can handle them, let me know, and I'm sure there's another class you can take."  He stopped in front of Harry's desk.  "Mr. Potter, while you seem very self assured, I think you should reconsider you ability to attempt these potions."  Despite Harry's growing anger, he kept his temper in check and did not respond to the teacher.

            "Mr. Potter, you should answer an adult when he talks to you.  Or do you think you're above common courtesy?"

            "I think I am, sir."

            "You think you're above common courtesy?"

            "No, I think I'm capable of taking and passing this class."

            Snape, who had begun to walk away stopped and leaned over the dark haired boy.  "I will make sure you are not, Mr. Potter," he sneered.  

            Something inside Harry snapped, but just as he opened his mouth to tell the professor off, another voice chimed in.  "Professor Snape?"

            Everyone turned toward the girl, and Harry inwardly groaned.  "Miss Kinter, this is neither the time nor the place for your interferences."  

As Snape returned to continue reprimanding him, A.M. stood.  '_What is she thinking?  Snape's going to kill her.'_

            "Uh, Professor Snape, considering we are living in a democracy at the moment, and that everyone here is entitled to a quality education, it is bias, illegal, and overall unfair to raise such high standards against Mr. Potter.  After all, no matter how he gained access to this class, he chose to take it competently, and considers himself fully capable.  Also, his fellow teachers obviously agree that he is a sober individual, or they would not have recommended him."  The class was so silent they could hear the birds outside.  No one moved.

            Taking advantage of the moment, A.M. continued, 'Furthermore, it has been proven that a student is seven times more likely to achieve a better-than-passing grade when the professor offers both academic and mental support.  Your intimidation could very well cost Harry his grade in this class.  It's wrong to place such barriers in front of any student."  Suddenly it seemed as if she realized where she was and blood rushed to her cheeks.  She looked from one student's bulging eyes to another.  "Um… umm…" she stuttered.  Still, everyone stayed petrified.  "Well, I'm done," she said, and sat down in her seat.  All eyes shifted from her to Professor Snape.

            Snape just continued to gawk at the blonde.  The students, fearing he would kill them instead of A.M. simply waited for his reaction.  Harry didn't expect the teacher to pull out his wand and curse her; he figured he was too angry for that.  It was more likely he would grab the large chopping knife from his work station and end A.M.'s life.  

            Instead Snape's face broke into something Harry thought he would never see: a cheeky smile.  "Ms. Kinter, thank you for making your platform perfectly clear.  However, please keep your political speeches until the end of class."  The students broke into scattered giggles, mostly from nervousness.  

            Harry didn't know what was more shocking:  A.M.'s speech or Snape's reaction.  Anyone else would have received detention or worse.  No one could possibly get away with reprimanding a teacher, especially the potions professor.  "Did I just dream all that?" Hermione asked him under her breath. 

            "How did she survive?" he questioned back.

            The entire class broke into scattered whispers, despite Snape's glares.  "To return to potions," the teacher lectured, "we will be making a Confusious Draught today.  It's a fairly simple recipe, but we haven't had the time in our shorter classes to finish it, so it's a good start.  It's used to confound your enemies and to give yourself an upper hand during duels.  Also-"  He stopped when he saw a hand waving in the air.  "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

            "Well, I'm already confounded, because it looks like Harry Potter's girlfriend is the man in that relationship."  The entire class burst into laughter and both of the accused party flushed crimson.  Harry, who had, until moments ago, appreciated A.M.'s efforts, felt the jealousy and annoyance return.  _'Who does she think she is?'_  He didn't understand why she could get away with so much and to have all his classmates laugh was appalling.  He could tell the girl was meddlesome and disliked her for the fact that she gave Malfoy ammo against him.  Also, he had been looking forward to the fight with Snape, but she had obviously ruined that as well.

            The class continued without distraction, although Harry sensed a noticeable difference in Snape's behavior.  Despite his lab partner, Hermione, watching his every move, he had the misfortune of missing the trichi syrum.  However, instead of failing him, Snape just reached for a bottle from the wall rack.  "Have you added the Schnotizt flower extract yet?

            "No."

            "Well, as long as you haven't added the catalyst, you can use this reversal powder to remove ingredients.  Just add a spoonful for each ingredient you need to take out."

            "Oh... thanks."  Harry was unsure as to how to respond to the professor's geniality.  He looked over at A.M., who had the unfortunate luck of last pick for partner and was currently working with Malfoy.  An understanding smile showed that she had seen the change as well.

            As he walked out at the end of class he felt a tug on his sleeve.  He spun to find himself inches from A.M.'s cornflower eyes and rosy lips.  Her breath tickled his cheeks.  "Harry, I'm really sorry that things... got out of control with Draco.  I was just trying to help." 

            Her grin was so disarming he could not help but return it.  "I guess it's all right," he lied.  He wished that she was not so pretty; perhaps that would help calm his warring emotions.  She seemed so nice, but something about her rubbed him, some abrasive part of her personality.  

            "I told Ron that I was busy this evening, so you're free to play chess."  If Harry even leaned forward an inch, her lips would be against his.  He willed himself to practice restraint.  

            "Thanks.  So…" he looked around, but Hermione was talking to Dean Thomas.  No using her for an excuse.  "I have to get to lunch."

            "Oh… okay.  I guess we'll talk later?"

            "Yeah, whatever."  He caught Hermione's eye and motioned for her to join him.  

            "I'll see you, Harry."  A.M. wiggled her fingers in the air in a nonchalant wave.  Harry merely raised his hand then walked away.

            Hermione stopped him further down the hall.  "So?"

            "So what?"

            "So, did you ask her out?  She's really great, and it's pretty obvious she likes you too."

            "What do you mean, 'likes me too?!'"  Other students turned at Harry's outburst, so he was sure to lower his volume.  He hated having people stare at him.  "I'm not interested in her.  At all."  _'Liar,' _his traitorous brain whispered.  A.M. was attractive, smart, strong-willed, and certainly was considered the newest status symbol here at Hogwart's.  And it was becoming more and more frustrating that Harry could find no trace of the girl he saw the night before.  But for some unexplainable reason, he had an instinctive dislike of A.M.  

            Hermione frowned.  "Are you mad that she tried to help you with Snape?  Because believe me, that took guts.  She must really like you to stand up to that man."  She shuddered at the thought of him.  

            "Yeah, and everyone laughed at me.  She made me look like an idiot."  Hermione shook her head and did not reply, but began walking back down the hall. 

***

Professor Kenchi's N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts class had reached it's student limit and still allowances had to be made for students desperate to take it.  While past Defense classes had proved disappointing, and at times dangerous, the curriculum drew people.  After Voldemort's return became public, people felt it was increasingly important to learn how to fight him.  Many students who tried to avoid the N.E.W.T. were forced in by their parents.  

            The classroom was alive with commotion.  Because of the overflow, the back wall of the room had been knocked out, combining two rooms.  The noise echoed in the long study and Harry wanted to cover his ears, but didn't want to attract any extra attention.  Ron came over, glowering, and shouted something incomprehensible.

            "What?!" Harry yelled back.  The redhead motioned toward the open door and he followed.

            "Wizard chess is back on tonight."  Harry did his best to contain his excitement, but instead tried to look concerned.

            "Did something happen?"

            "Yeah, A.M. told me she was busy.  She's only been here a day!  How can she already be busy?"

            "Maybe she has to go talk to Dumbledore or something."

            "Or maybe she heard what a loser everyone thinks I am and doesn't want to be seen with me."  He kicked the wall, but was too melancholy to put any force behind it.  "Man, she's the first girl to actually like me, and I _really like her, and now she thinks I'm a git."_

            Harry felt the guilt creep into the back of his mind.  Not only was he the reason A.M. rejected Ron, it was also apparent that her romantic inclinations were aimed toward him as well.  "Ron, I bet she really is busy.  She just transferred here and she has to catch up and everything."  Suddenly a brilliant idea occurred.  "She's already in there," he said, pointing to the open door.  "As soon as she sits down, take the seat next to her."

            "But we've always sat next to each other."

            "I'll share a table with Hermione, one near where you sit.  Hopefully my grade will improve."

            "Good plan."  Ron disappeared into the noisy crowd.  Harry watched from the door as his friend staked out A.M.  _'Hopefully she'll leave me alone,' he thought to himself, but grudgingly realized this was untrue.  He knew what a crush felt like and there was definitely one forming for the vivacious girl.  But Ron had already stated his feelings, so Harry had missed his chance.  To try anything with her would be betrayal.  _

            He didn't understand this conflict of emotions.  He disliked A.M. and her nosiness and sickening sweet personality.  She also intrigued him and he felt, underneath that sugary exterior, there was a person he would very much like to know.  

            As A.M. took her seat, Lavender Brown, whom she'd been speaking to circled around to other chair.  However, Ron sprinted and leaped to the empty spot next to her.  A.M.'s face scrunched, but she quickly hid her disapproval behind her large grin.  She said something to Ron and, while it seemed her smile was extremely contagious, Harry's friend did not respond.  Nervousness threatened to cave his genial exterior.  

            Harry took the seat near Ron and Hermione joined him soon after, even without an invitation.  "I take it Ron's going to make his move?"  she asked.  He could tell she was slightly agitated about something: she was swinging her leg back and forth, and tapping her nails on the desk.

            "I don't think Ron _has_ moved since he sat down.  He's petrified.  I don't know how he set up a study date with her."

            "I think it was more like she set the date up.  He just kind of nodded."  She laughed, but it was tinged with irritation.  She was hiding something, but Harry was not intuitive enough to discern what.  He went to ask her, but the ethereal Asian teacher chose that moment to come in.

            Unlike most educators, he did not turn to write his name on the board.  He just waited until the talking slowed, then finally halted.  "I am Professor Kenchi.  I taught at Ga Mor Tonns in Mongolia, but recent events have led me to Hogwarts.  I hope all of you will consider me a worthy teacher."  His soothing voice had the slightest accent, but not enough to make understanding him difficult.  He exuded calm and peacefulness as he stood at the front of the room. 

            "I understand that you've had some difficulty finding qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in the past, but I assure you, I will gladly take insight from all of you to ensure you receive the most relevant education possible."

            "Then how do you kill Voldemort?" someone yelled, a disembodied voice in the echoing room. 

            The new professor just smiled.  "I follow the teachings of Dang Ta, a lesser known philosophy.  Dang Ta says that whenever a person is faced with a great challenge or difficulty, they know how to defeat it.  No matter what, you have had access to the information that could help you.  Either you've heard it, or it has been in a book that you've possessed, or there is someone you know that you could have asked.  Now, if you were not listening, or not diligent or brave enough to absorb that information, you will not have the weapons you need.  That is why one must practice constant awareness."

            "Mad Eye Moody used to say that," Seamus blurted.  "'Constant vigilance!'" he mimicked in a perfect impression of the Auror.  

            "Awareness and vigilance are two different things," Kenchi explained.  "One should not always be on the lookout for an evil or an enemy.  That is how one dons paranoia.  However, one should try to obtain all he can, so that when that evil faces him, he can reach into his well of knowledge and find what he needs."

            "If I memorized everything I ever heard or read, I'd just have a library of useless information," complained a Hufflepuff.

            "Dang Ta teaches that everything you learn will eventually be used.  You do not know how or when, but you will need it someday.  It is fate.  Therefore you will have the ability to defeat Voldemort, if the need arises."  Kenchi looked at the blank faces of the class.  "Mayhap I should site an example."  He studied his name chart.  "Could Mr. Potter please come up here?"  

            Harry inwardly groaned.  He'd never been good at these on-the-spot kind of things.  He took his place by the teacher.  _"Bronchialine!" Kenchi shouted and something seized Harry by the throat.  He tried to speak, but racking coughs sent him to the floor.  However, they quickly subsided, leaving him gasping for breath.  _

            "Mr. Potter, why did you not ward off the spell?"

            "What?  I wouldn't know how!  I've never even heard that spell before!"

            "It was in your spell book for this class two years ago.  You've had the knowledge, but you have never accessed it.  Practicing awareness means taking advantage of what is offered to you."  He sent Harry, scowling back at the teacher, to his seat, then looked at the chart again.  "Miss Kinter?"  he called.  A.M. rose and walked to the front of the class.  

Kenchi asked, "Now Miss Kinter, how would you expect me to attack right now?"

A.M. began to explain, but did not take her eyes off the professor.  "Well, you'll probably use a-"  Kenchi swung an arm towards her clavicle, but with moves quick as lightning she grabbed his elbow and armpit, pulled him off balance, and threw him over her back.  Few of the students saw what happened, but rather saw A.M. and Kenchi talking, then A.M. panting, in defense position, and Kenchi on the floor.

            "Excellent Miss Kinter!" the teacher praised.  "Miss Kinter not only has studied physical defense, but also practices constant awareness.  She identified me as a threat, and used knowledge to contain that threat.  25 points for Gryffindor!"  A.M. smiled and walked down the aisle between the desks.

            "Showoff," Harry muttered as she walked by.  If she heard, she didn't respond.  Jealousy sat thick in his belly, coiled like a black snake.  

Ron just grinned moonily.  "That was so cool," he told her.  She shrugged, but smiled back.

Kenchi continued teaching and soon after they began wand work.  However, it became quite apparent that A.M. was not nearly as skilled magically as she was in other areas.  She only once properly performed the bronchialine ward they learned.  Others around her snickered and Ron tried desperately to help her out, but he ended up talking in a pinched nasal tone after being hit by her one success.

"Was A.M. just nervous?" Hermione asked Ron after class.

"I think she was bamboozled by my wily charm," he retorted cockily.

"I think _you were bamboozled by… well, by everything."  Hermione looked rather smug._

"Do you two ever stop arguing?"  Harry asked, annoyed, and headed to dinner, leaving the two bickering, unaware that their friend had even left.  

**Author's Note:**  _I'm sorry, I know you're tired of hearing from me (I can hear what you're thinking: "Why won't this dumb %@!# just shut up already?!").  However, I felt need to make it known that, unfortunately, my keyboard is broken.  Therefore, the next chapter will probably not be posted next week.  After all, O is a very important letter when writing, and unfortunately, I can't use it at the time.  However, write me an email, and I will be sure to send notice when I do post.  Thanks for your time._


	5. Dreamy Night

**Chapter 5:  Dreamy Night**

            "Rook, left seven."  The ebony marble carving slid across the board.  "Ron, it's your turn."  Harry's opponent had been preoccupied all evening, staring out the rain-streaked window, chewing a piece of gum with his mouth hanging open, and ignoring strategy on the chessboard.

            "Oh, um… king, right one."

            "Check."

            "Oh…crap.  Uh…uh…uh…"  His face turned beet red and Harry turned to see at what he was staring.  A.M. had just come through the doorway, deep in conversation with Neville Longbottom.  Neville was about the same color as Ron, only with slight hint of purple.  

            "She dissed me for… Longbottom?" Ron asked incredulously.

            However, once she noticed Harry and Ron she traipsed over.  "Move the Queen up two.  It'll protect the King," she instructed Ron with a smile.  She pointed at the pieces as she spoke, but was staring into Harry's eyes.

            "Thanks," Ron answered.  He seemed confused at her lack of interest, but instead opted for the angry approach.  "Enjoy your night with Neville?" he asked her hotly.  

            "Well, I was actually talking to Dumbledore.  Neville was in the hall and we walked back together.  But he is very nice.  I had a good time."

            "Herumph."  Ron hunched over and examined the board, trying to keep his eyes off the blond.  

            "If you'd like, we can go ahead and study.  I mean, I'm not doing anything." 

            Harry frowned.  "Well, we're playing wizard chess right now, but-"

            "Hold on."  Ron studied the board.  "Bishop diagonal four.  Checkmate."  He grabbed his tie in one hand, which he had thrown over the back of the chair, and A.M. with the other and headed upstairs.

            "Ron!"  Harry shouted after him.  He couldn't believe A.M.'s audacity.  She acted so nice, but she was selfish and uncaring.  _And she was just using Ron for… well, Harry didn't know, but she was using him.  He couldn't stand her.  "Backstabber," he mumbled._

            "What was that?" Hermione asked, looking up from _Magical Maladies of the 17th Century_.  

            "Nothing, nothing."  Hermione seemed to like A.M., so he felt the less he said about her, the better.  

            "Where'd Ron go?"

            "Upstairs.  With A.M."

            She stiffened.  "Oh, well… good.  It's time he finally found a girl."  He saw that her mouth was twitching.  He pointed to his own lips, and she quickly put her hand over the nervous muscle.  "Yeah, accidentally hit myself with a jitterus charm.  Hopefully it will wear off soon."  She returned to the fat book, hiding her face behind it.  "How come _you_ didn't ask her to study?"

            "Because I'm not interested."

            "Well, Cho already has a boyfriend.  Some kid in Ravenclaw.  I didn't recognize his name."  She cringed at the look Harry shot her.  "I was just telling you," she said defensively.  "Somebody had to."

            "Good.  I'm not interested in Cho either."

            "So who _are you mooning over?"_

"If I wanted you to know who my crush was, I would tell you.  If you would stop messing around and tell me who you liked, I would tell you mine."  He ignored the fact his brain was quickly searching for a name to give as a cover-up, in case Hermione relinquished the information.   

"A girl needs her secrets." 

Harry huffed, and tugged a small piece of her hair.  "Fine, but don't ask me any more questions about my love life."

"So it's a love life now, not a crush?"

"You are impossible!"  He walked up the stairs noisily, clomping so that Hermione could hear him take each and every one.  A.M. and Ron were hunched over their studies, not snogging as Harry had expected.  "I'm going to bed!"  he shouted.  "Go downstairs and study."

"Sorry, man, I didn't know we were such a bother.  Let's go downstairs," he told A.M. harshly.

"Okay, I'll be right down."

"Whatever."  As he passed Harry's bed he gave him a rude gesture.  "I was making my move," he hissed, then slammed the door.

"Ron's certainly seems to have gotten over his shyness," he told A.M.

"He just needed a little confidence booster.  I think once he saw how bad I was at magic, he felt a lot more comfortable around me."  She giggled.  "Most people do.  Besides, once you've talked like a girl in front of someone, not much can embarrass you anymore."  She was picking up trinkets and gadgets on the desk, examining them.

"Don't touch my stuff." 

She almost dropped his sneakoscope, she was so startled.  "Sorry."

"What do you want, A.M.?  I'd _like_ to go to sleep."

"I'm… I'm sorry I did anything to upset you today."  Her forehead bunched into cute little creases.  "I think you're a really great guy.  I wasn't trying to make things worse for you, or make you mad, or anything like that."

"That's fine.  Just leave."

"Okay.  Goodnight Harry."  She leaned over him, lips puckered.  _'Oh God, she's going to kiss me.'_  He wanted to feel her mouth on his, but he was disgusted by this powerful need, and he feared Ron was outside the door, listening. 

"Ron's waiting for you," he grumbled, pushing her away.  

Her face scrunched, as if she was about to cry, but she quickly regained her composure and walked out.  The room seemed colder without her presence, but Harry, too frustrated and angry to notice, simply pulled the covers tighter around him.  He drifted off quickly, and that's when he had the dream.   

The girl in the cloak came silently though the door, dressed in a filmy, floor-length nightgown.  It shimmered in the moonlight, as did her skin and eyes.  She walked to his bed and leaned over him.  Smiling, she moved forward until she was only inches from him.  Her breath tickled his forehead and moved a few of his stray hairs.  He knew he could not move or open his eyes, or she would disappear.  He wasn't sure how he could see the unfolding events, but he could.

When their lips met, it was as if an arc of electricity had joined them.  Sparks flew and they were connected, mouth-to-mouth.  His heart was fluttering and dizziness threatened to overcome him.  But as soon as it had begun, she pulled away and quickly tiptoed out the door.  

The sound of the latch closing woke Harry.  Power was surging through his body and he couldn't believe that it was only a dream.  When he touched his lips and drew them away, his fingertips were glowing with luminescence.  Was it only a dream?  

***

"Did you hear?" Hermione asked, breathless from running to catch up with him in the hall.

"I guess not.  At least, nothing worth running through _this_ hall."  Harry pointed to the roiling crowd of students behind them, desperate to get to their next classes on time.

            "Are you still getting the Daily Prophet?"

            "No, I canceled my subscription last year, remember?"

            "Oh, that's right," she replied, considering his quibbles with the journal.  She unfolded the paper, revealing a black-and-white still photo of an attractive blond teen.  The article title read _Muggle Murder Leaves both Scotland Yard and Ministry Baffled.  "Harry," she whispered, "they think it was Voldemort."_

            Several passing students scowled, but did not say anything about the use of the name.  "Mind if I read it?" he asked, taking the newspaper from her before she responded.

            _The death of Linda Primrose has Scotland Yard in a bind, the Daily Prophet reports.  The youngest daughter of Lord Primrose of __Cornwall__ was last seen alive three weeks ago, when she met several friends at a club.  These friends claim she disappeared in the large crowd, and deny knowing any other information.  The Lord, threatening to scandalize the Police force with a lawsuit, has been up in arms since his daughter went missing._

_            However, his anger turned to anguish when, last night, Miss Primrose's body washed up on the bank of the __Thames__River__, slightly south of _London__.__  While badly decomposed, it's obvious the girl died of a severe cut from the throat down the sternum, opening the ribcage.  Even stranger, after careful examination, it was found that her heart was missing.  "Whoever killed this girl obviously did it specifically to steal this organ.  She shows no other signs of harm."__

_            The Ministry cautions that, while they are not sure, they feel this could be the work of You-Know-Who.  "The girl died of the Avada Kedavra curse long before she was ever physically touched.  Also, while Scotland Yard passed it off as a tattoo, the Dark Mark was found burned into her upper-left shoulder.  All readers of the Daily Prophet should be on the lookout, and know where their children are at all times.  Until the culprit is caught, everyone is at risk._

            "That is sick!  Cut out her heart?!" Harry exclaimed.

            "I don't know what Voldemort is up to, but I'm worried."

            He looked up and down the corridor and saw the crowd was thinning drastically: a sure sign class would start any minute.  "We'll talk about this later?"  

            "Yeah, I'll see you in Transfiguration."  But by the time his first class ended, Harry had forgotten all about the ghastly article.

***

"Sometimes you need a book to stay open at a certain spot, or even turn pages for you," the tiny Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick explained.  "While you can buy books that open and close, it's very helpful to charm books to do that themselves.  First you cast _Wingardium Leviosa_, which will float the book above the table."  He flicked his wand and the book soon hovered about a foot above his desk.  "Now you cast the newest charm: _Likota Fingersa.  Make sure you flick, flick, point."  He demonstrated the complicated wand movements in slow motion.  He then finished the spell.  "You can announce a page number, or just say 'next' or 'back' page to go forward or back one page.  Now all of you try."_

Harry, head resting on his hand, groaned.  "Could he have picked a more boring spell?"

"I think it will be helpful," Neville told him.  "You can cast this on your textbook and, even if you fall asleep, it will look like you're paying attention."

"Cool," he answered emptily.  After his dream, Harry had not slept a moment.  His mind was racing.  If the reverie was real, it proved that the girl not only remained at Hogwarts, but also felt the same way as he did.  If it wasn't a dream… Harry didn't want to assume it was untrue.

He also couldn't stop thinking about his almost-kiss with A.M.  She was warm as the summer sun, and certainly would be pleasant to cuddle up to.  And her lips were soft and moist and oh-so-inviting.  But Ron was certainly attracted to her and to show interest would go against any intuition he'd ever had.  So instead he sulked as everyone worked on Charms.

"Harry," Professor Flitwick called, rapping his wand on the cypress tabletop.  "We are practicing the spell now." 

"Oh, right," he replied disinterestedly.  The room, despite the open windows and folding fans enchanted to wave on full speed, was hotter than an oven, making it difficult to do anything but daydream.  "Ron?  Borrow your book?  I forgot mine."

"You forgot your books this morning, too.  What's up with you?"  

"Just let me borrow a book."  

Ron rummaged through his shoddy, torn bag, remnant of both Percy's and Bill's years at Hogwarts, and pulled out _History of Magical __England__ 1750 – 1980.  "I'm using my Charms, but you can work on the History book."  He gave Harry a severe look.  "I'm studying that with A.M. again tonight, so _don't_ lose it."_

"I'm not Neville, you know."

"Hey!" Neville sputtered, but was quickly smacked by his apparently impatient text.  "All right, all right," he reassured, stroking its spine.  He glared at Harry, but returned to the classwork.

_"Wingardium Leviosa," he recited and the book levitated off the desk.  He then started the next step.  _"Likota Fingersa."  _Nothing.  _"Likota Fingersa,"_ he tried again.  __History of Magical __England__ 1750 – 1980 remained still on the desk.  Harry's frustration, mixed with a lack of sleep finally boiled over.  __"LIKOTA FINGERSA!" he shouted and the book shot across the room, where it hit and slid down the wall, then began flipping through pages madly.  Students looked nervously from the erratic text to the flushed boy._

Harry yelled "Stop!" and, much to his surprise, it did.

"Harry," Ron moaned.  "You promised you'd be careful."

But Harry, who had walked over to retrieve the book, was too entranced by what he saw on the page where it had ended its tantrum to hear Ron's complaints.  His heart had dropped and not a breath left his body.  Time stood still as he gaped, open mouthed, at the History text.  While one side contained boring information about a colony for squibs in Africa, the other had a grainy, monochrome picture.  The well-dressed lady in the photo, who was winking and smiling coquettishly, looked exactly like the mystery girl.


	6. A Novel Class

**Chapter 6:  A Novel Class**

            "Is something a matter, Mr. Potter?" Professor Flitwick inquired.

            "Who… is that?" he asked, staring at the photo.

            The teacher bent down and scooped the book into his arms.  After careful inspection of the photo he laughed.  "Professor Binns needs to update his book list."

            "But who is she?"

            "Take your seat, Mr. Potter.  I suppose I can tell you: it's been long enough."  Confused, the class quieted and stopped milling around.

            Flitwick walked to the front of the room.  "While this is not History class, I don't think any of you will get this particular lesson.  Please don't tell anyone what I am telling you now.  This," he said, pointing to the photo, "is a picture of Princess Gretta Genoux.  None of you are old enough to remember, but we used to have a monarchy."

            "You mean, like the firm?"

            "No, the muggle royalty now works more as a figurehead: like a mascot.  The royal family here was chosen by a prophecy.  The Queen or King was more powerful than even the Minister of Magic."

            "And they never had any problems with tyranny?" Pavarati Patil asked.

            "The prophecy ensured a reign of peace as long as the family held the throne.  I'm surprised you haven't heard of them before.

            "The last queen, Queen Ann Genoux, died over 20 years ago.  Princess Gretta was her only child.  This picture was taken when she was about 16.  However, she decided she did not want to be queen, so she ran away.  She was very irresponsible.  The Queen disowned her as her daughter, although she still held her royal title, and no one was allowed to speak her name.  That's why I was so surprised you had this book.  I thought they'd all been destroyed."

            "Why didn't they find her and bring her back?"

            "They were unable to find her.  The Queen died only a year after the disappearance, and after awhile, the Ministry learned to get along without the monarchy.  However, they did eventually find Gretta's body, killed by the Avada Kedavra curse."

            "Didn't you say that the family ensured peace?  What about Voldemort?  That wasn't very peaceful."  

            "It seemed that the Princess was cursed to bring pain to the country.  Since she never took the throne, it could be considered that she was not there to protect the country."

            "So that was the end of the monarchy?"

            "All that's left is a silly superstition."

            "What's that?"

            "Well, there's a prophecy that says the last of the royal family will wage a war against the greatest evil of all.  Without this leader, the evil will destroy the world.  It also says this leader will be the source of infinite power for this evil and die by the ultimate evil's hand.  However, many think the prophecy is just someone goofing around, not a real vision.  Only time will tell." 

            "I've seen Gretta," Harry blurted.

            "That would be impossible," Flitwick told him.  "She's been dead seven years."

            "She was in this school!  She looked exactly like this!"

            "Mr. Potter, this picture was taken decades ago and she is DEAD."  The bell rang and Flitwick looked relieved.

            Though he tried to avoid them, Hermione grabbed him by the elbow and Ron stepped in front of him.  "What's up, guys?  Gee, I'm awfully hungry, maybe we could talk at lunch-"

            "Maybe we could talk now," Ron answered, "seeing as you haven't been saying much lately."

            "Harry, who is this girl you saw?" Hermione demanded.

            "There's not much to tell," he replied honestly.  "When I followed Dumbledore after the ceremony, I ended up down by the boat docks.  Hagrid shows up with this pretty girl: the one in the book.  She was a new student, I guess, but she saw me and I had to leave before I learned anything."  The two eyed him critically.  

            "And you haven't seen her since?"

            "No."  He didn't mention his dream the week before.  After all, it was only a dream, right?

            "Why'd you lie to us, Harry?"  The two stared at him, waiting for an answer.

            "Hagrid swore me to secrecy," he fibbed.  He hoped they didn't notice his shifting eyes, for he certainly couldn't tell them the truth.  

            They seemed to buy his story and Hermione released her death grip.  "Okay, let's go get some lunch."

***

            "Please stir your potions regularly, as to prevent burning," Snape droned on.  That day the N.E.W.T. class was working on a particularly difficult draught: the Floo Potion.  After drying and crushing, the potion would become Floo Powder.  However, if made incorrectly, the user would never reach his desired destination.

            "Harry," the professor ridiculed, "While it is quite easy to rely on those smarter, you should not have Hermione do all the work."  Harry's ears began to burn, but he said nothing.  Indeed, he and his lab partner had made a deal: he would prepare ingredients: chopping, measuring, etc., and Hermione would do the mixing and the adding.  

            "Excellent work, Miss Kinter."  The strawberry-blond smiled broadly.  It was already obvious, from previous classes, that Snape had chosen his favorite student.  While she rarely made mistakes, Snape always personally helped her fix the ones she did.  He constantly turned other students' attention to her, so that she could demonstrate the appropriate way to do this and that.  While she seemed embarrassed by the extra attention of her fellow pupils, it was obvious she radiated in Snape's praise.  Rumors circulated that she had a crush on the critical teacher; twice the gossip circulated that the teacher reciprocated her feelings.  Even Malfoy, who benefited from the astounding grades Snape showered him with, benefits of his partner, was getting jealous.  He was used to being the favorite student, and did not appreciate losing the title to a Gryffindor.

            "Harry, you have twenty seconds to get the wolfsbane ready.  I _have_ to add that right away."  The look on Hermione's face would have been quite comical, had Harry not known the consequences for failure.  He quickly chopped the rest of the root and dumped it off the cutting board into the cauldron.  The potion bubbled and turned a sick greenish color.

            "Ugh, is it supposed to do that?"  

            "Yeah, it's not pretty, but it's right."

            "So what do we add next?"  Harry began flipping through the potion recipe book.  "Yeah, it says we have to smash some Mulungus leaves to release their oils and then add them to the cauldron one at a time."

            "You start pounding, I'll keep stirring."  They turned to their respective tasks, eager to finish the consuming potion.  Harry wrapped the leaves in cheesecloth, then raised his mallet, ready to strike.  Suddenly a high-pitched scream wrenched through the room.  Hermione squeaked and dropped her wooden spoon into the cauldron, where it began to smoke.              "What was that?"

            Turning to the origin of the sound, they saw A.M. writhing on the floor, grasping her arm to her chest.  "It burns!" she cried, scrunching her face against the pain.

            Snape jumped over his desk and ran to the girl's side.  He stared accusingly at Malfoy.  "What happened?  

            "I don't know!"  the Slytherin shot back, glaring.  "She keeps saying it burns, but-"

            "Make it stop, oh God… the pain."  The whites of her eyes totally surrounded her irises, make Harry think her eyes might pop out at any second. 

            "-but she was nowhere near the cauldron."

            Snape gently pulled A.M.'s arm towards him and slid her sleeve down.  Everyone cringed at the blackened flesh that peeked around her hem and the professor quickly pushed her robe back into place, something akin to fear gripping his face.  Harry felt a nagging itch at the back of his mind.  "I will return soon.  All of you continue working on your potions."  He scooped the moaning, sobbing girl into his arms and left the room.

            Several students, mainly boys suffering from crushes, cornered Draco.  "You wouldn't have just lied to Snape, would you?" one of the large Slytherin boys asked him, lust overtaking his loyalties.  "After all, you are awfully upset about losing your precious teacher's-pet spot, aren't you?"

"You don't frighten me," he sneered at the crowd.  "She wasn't near the fire.  I don't know what happened to her."  Harry and Hermione returned to their workstation, but the dropped spoon had obviously ruined their hard work.  "There's something strange about what just happened," Hermione commented, scrubbing the burnt crust at the bottom of the cauldron.

            Harry agreed.  'Yeah, I feel like I should know, but I just can't think of it right now."  Why would a burn cause so much mental agitation?  

            "Do you think she'll be all right?" Hermione asked him, concerned.  "She was burned very badly.  The skin was black."

            He considered, his heart seizing for a second, then quickly answered, "Yeah, she'll probably be back by lunch."  But A.M. was not in the hall during the large meal.  And still she had not returned by Defense Against the Dark Arts.  "Kinter," Kenchi had called during role.  However, he must have known of the event during potions, because he did not repeat her name in hopes of an answer.   

            She finally stumbled into the common room that evening, her usually buoyant hair plastered to her head with old sweat and her left sleeve raggedly cut off at the shoulder, exposing the white bandages lacing her arm.  Many Gryffindors surrounded her and showered her with condolences, but she stifled them with a raised palm.  "Thanks for the sympathy, but I'm just going to go to bed."  She trudged up the stairs and everyone returned to their previous tasks.

            "So did Draco really burn her?" Ron asked Harry as they played Exploding Snap.  

            He shrugged.  "I don't know.  He says he didn't, but would he confess if he did?  And how do you know about it?"

            "Everyone knows about it."

"There's something really weird about it, don't you think?"  Harry scratched his head, trying to stop the itch overtaking his brain.

            "Yeah, like the fact that that's where a Deatheater would have his mark?"  While meant to be a nonchalant comment, Harry could almost hear the click in his mind.  

            "Exactly!" he shouted, then grinned awkwardly as everyone in the room turned to look at him.  Then his face fell.  "But Snape didn't seem to have any problems.  I mean, if Vold… er, You-Know-Who was calling the Deatheaters, all of their scars would have hurt, right?"

            "Okay, so maybe it was just a burn."  Ron shook his head.  "Harry, not everyone in this school has a buried secret for you to discover."  As he pictured A.M.'s blue eyes, deep as forest pools, he felt certain that, in her case, that was not true.


	7. Lessons in Life and Love

**Chapter 7:  Lessons in Life and Love           **

**             It seemed unlikely that students or teachers would be out of class to catch her woolgathering, but nonetheless, A.M. stuck to the shadows to ensure anonymity.  After all she had done to come to Hogwarts, it would be a shame to spend her time in detention.**

             She steadied her hand to keep the newspaper clipping clutched there from rattling and listened around a corner.  Nothing.  Darting down the hallway, she stopped and repeated the action at the next turn.  This time she was not so lucky.

            "Why are you so upset anyway?" she heard a familiar voice ask.  Ron Weasley.  

            "I'm not upset, I'm just disappointed.  You keep blowing your friends off so you can moon over some girl-"

            "She is not just some girl!"  A.M. had to stifle a laugh as his voice cracked at the end of the objection.  But who was he arguing with?  She sank to her knees and dared a peek.  Hermione's wild curls would be obvious, even if she hadn't caught a look at her face.  She seemed flushed and fidgety, as if unable to say her true point.

            "A.M. is very nice, but…" Hermione continued and guilt stung A.M.'s throat.  It was one thing to spy on a person's conversation, but quite another when she was the main topic.  Still, she was intrigued by the going-ons.  Hermione had no qualms with A.M., so the argument must be about the time Ron and she spent together.  But if that was true, that meant-

            "We're _friends_, Hermione, nothing more, nothing less.  Sometimes you act like we're attached at the hip or something-"

            "And sometimes you act like I'm not even alive!"  She lowered her voice quickly, in case they had alerted the authority to their whereabouts.  "What about that letter you sent me this summer?"

            Ron sounded visibly shaken.  "W-w-what letter?  I didn't send you any letter."

            "Liar!  I recognized your handwriting, even if you did try to disguise it.  _'I want to be with you always, I can't stop thinking of you, I want to kiss your lips…'" she quoted in a high-pitched squeak._

            "I don't have to put up with this," Ron retorted, and A.M. heard his footsteps loudly receding down the hall.

            "You can't ignore me forever!" Hermione shouted after him, and turned the corner.  A.M. willed herself to be invisible and, although she did not achieve transparency, Hermione was too angry and inwardly involved to notice the crouched figure by the suit of armor.  "Stupid boys," she muttered under her breath and stalked down toward the girl's lavatory.

            When sure that Hermione and Ron weren't returning for reconciliation, she continued on her path.  She felt sorry for the frizzy-haired girl, dealing with such a rejection.  A.M. thought back to her childhood.  Her mother, probably sensing her inability to shield the outside world forever, gave A.M. a copy of the _Feminine Mystique at age seven.  There had been no formal introduction, no explanation of the history and electric charge the book had created.  One day her pillow was empty, the next the book had been there.  At first A.M. had not read the book, only ran her hands across the raised letters of the cover.  She was quite bright: she knew 'feminine' and how it described her.  But the second word, the one with the curvy 'M,' that one brought a mystery.  How ironic that "mystique" was probably the best word to describe A.M.  She was an enigma, wrapped in an ethereal magic.  _

            Despite her mother's attempts, A.M. inherited her childlike love of romance.  Romeo and Juliet, When Harry Met Sally: a world of fanciful meetings and star crossed suitors.  It was inappropriate that her own feelings should be unrequited; that wasn't the way the movie was supposed to end.  Neither did she like to see failed romances, rejected teens crying in bathroom stalls.  Still, perhaps because of her own sting of rejection, she did not run to console Hermione.  They were equals: neither able to bring the comfort of experience.

            She reached her destination shortly and pulled the door closed behind her.  The Professor looked up from his work and grinned.  "For awhile, I thought you'd decided to stop visiting."

            "Merely a busy week.  My arm hurt like hell, but it's better now," she stretched her forearm in front of him, showing only the freckled skin.

            "Good," Snape smiled, rubbing a warm, dry hand down the uninjured spot.  "For a second there, I thought we'd have to start building a box, digging a hole, all that, you know."

            A.M. smiled.  She missed her daily meetings with the man, the gentle teasing that ensued.  "Believe it, you'll be far underground before me."  

            He quickly grew serious.  "I know why you haven't been coming, and you should know, I understand."

            "I just don't want people thinking we're… you know-"

            "Good friends?"  He folded his fingers in his lap and raised a quizzical eyebrow.  

            "Anyway-" She pulled the newspaper from her newsboy bag, where she had hastily stuffed it during her walk.  Placing it on the desk, she worked to spread the wrinkles out.  It was a muggle newspaper, only a few days old.  While the story should have been on the front page, with its seriousness, Scotland Yard had banished it to end of the local section.  They probably feared rumors of a modern day Jack the Ripper.

            "I haven't seen anything about this in the Daily Prophet," Snape told her, peering over the rim of his reading glasses.  

            "They had that Primrose girl a couple weeks ago, but apparently they haven't caught wind of this."  

            He studied the accompanying photo.  "Blonde again," he murmured to no one in particular.  

            "Looks like he's just sneaking up on them or something.  But why cut them open?  Why not just use Avada Kedavra and leave it at that?"

            "A ritual perhaps?  I don't know.  I can't recall any other time Voldemort's used physical means to end a life."  

            She sat on the edge of the desk, swinging one leg lazily.  "So he's after me."  

            "Looking at the photographs, how can you have any doubt?  The reason for the chase is the dubious information." 

            "Well," A.M. sighed, pushing her long, sleek hair from her eyes.  "The situation hasn't changed.  I haven't put down my guard yet, nor will I plan to in the near future."

            "That sounds like an excellent idea.  When not on school grounds, try to always stay within sight of a teacher."

            "Is Hogwart's… safe?  Should I be searching for a back door?"

            Snape laughed.  "You may be number one on everyone's list right now, but you shouldn't worry for a minute.  There is no way Dumbledore would ever allow Voldemort to get within a mile of you."  His smile disappeared.  "You're far too important."

            A.M. had considered the dangers long enough.  Pulling up an old wooden chair, she put her feet up on his desk.  "Professor Snape, tell me about my mother.  Take my mind off of things."  While A.M. knew all about the lady and the tragedies that befell her, she loved to hear them described by the man staring at her from behind his desk.

"A.M…. by the way, I've been meaning to ask you, where did you get such a stupid name?"  

            "If you think about it, it fits."

            Snape considered it.  "Despite its symbolism, I know there are better ones to choose.  Anyway, I don't want to discuss her right now."

            "Please?" she pleaded, turning her dark blue eyes on him.  

            "You know how difficult it is for me to talk about her."

            "Severus, it's difficult for me not to see her everyday.  When other people talk about her, which is infrequent, they hold her in such contempt.  They don't understand her like you and I do.  That's why I love to hear you talk about her.  It's so romantic."

            "Fine," he sighed.  However, he did not look at her, but rather at the beamed ceiling.  "Your mother was incredibly beautiful- the most beautiful woman around, in fact.  Of course," he now turned to his pupil, "your looks are even more blessed than hers, although you two look almost exactly alike."

            Except for our eyes," A.M. breathed, shrugging off a moment of disgust.

            "Yes, except for your eyes.  

"I met your mother in Florence.  We were both trying to get away from our lives; after training at the Ministry, I just wanted to escape from my fellow colleagues and my troubles.  She was sitting in a café, her legs crossed and her nose in a book.  But somehow she just sensed me walking by.  She looked up- looked at me with those big, gorgeous green eyes, and said, 'I know what you are.'

            'What I am?' I asked.

            'You're from my world.  You're not like the muggles.  You know, what you are.'

            'How do you know?' I inquired.  I was confused by her forwardness.  She was quite strange, but she was gorgeous, and I was a young man, so of course I continued the conversation.

            'Please, come sit with me.  I've been away from that world for so long, I need someone to talk to.'  So I sat down and we conversed all evening.  I was quite taken with her and despite the difference in age, we found much to talk about.  We didn't leave each other's sides for the next two weeks and when it came time for me to return to England, she reluctantly joined me under one condition: that I never tell anyone who she was or where she was.  Your mother had so much more to get away from than I did."

            A.M. sighed and sank down in her chair.  "It was love at first sight."  Sometimes she even sickened herself with her fascination with the stereotypical boy-meets-girl story.

            Snape grinned at her adolescent romanticism.  "Well, as you know, _they_ found out about her.  She left me, in the middle of the night.  I looked everywhere for her, but could not find her.  I was heartbroken.  I searched many years before I heard from her again.  I was teaching a class when there was a tapping on the window.  A falcon with a letter was there.  I can't tell you everything that was in the letter-"

"Ooh, racy," A.M. interjected.

            "But it told me she was waiting for me in New York.  I apparated there as soon as the class was over, and indeed, there she was.  But when I embraced her, she told me she was involved with someone: your father.  I screamed and yelled at her- told her I had waited all this time, but she couldn't do the same.  However, when I looked into her eyes, I saw her gentle love and could not stay angry.  

            "We caught up on old times, and we soon realized the passion between us couldn't be contained.  We started an affair and everyday I begged her to leave your father.  But she was afraid, and refused.  We kept our love a secret, even though it was horribly hard for the both of us.

            "I was with her when we received the news of your father's disappearance.  We were so happy that we could finally be together, she promised to break her vow of secrecy and come back to England as my wife.  And we were more ecstatic because she was pregnant- she was so sure the child was mine."  Snape stopped, and stared into the distance.  

            "But when she- when you were born, I saw your eyes.  You looked so much like your mother, but those eyes were only your father's.  It hurt so much, but I vowed to love you like my own daughter.  However, your mother was stricken with guilt.  She said that she could not raise this child with me.  With tears in her eyes, she asked me never to see her, or you, again."

            "But she loved you."

            "She did, but her shame and fear kept us from our happiness.  I wrote her letter after letter, begging for one moment of her time, but she never answered.  When I saw a falcon in the sky, I prayed it was for me, but it never was.  The next thing I heard, she had died, and you were gone."

            Tears were streaming down A.M.'s cheeks.  Unsure of what to do, Snape wrapped an arm around the sobbing girl.  "I still will always love you like my own child.  And I will never love another woman besides your mother.  You two are my family, and always will be."

            A swift knock on the door separated the two.  Although she tried to hide it, A.M. was sure that, as Dumbledore entered, he caught her wiping away her tears.  "I see you two are catching up.  I apologize for interrupting."  The wizened man did something like a bow and turned to leave.  

            "Wait!"  A.M. grabbed Dumbledore's sleeve.  He turned and smiled a grizzled smile.  

            "Is there something I may do for you, Miss Kinter?"

            "Well, I've been having some trouble with magic in my classes, what with the wand and all-"

            "Yes, I've heard stories.  Tell me, has Miss Brown recovered from that ill-placed curse last week?"

            A.M. laughed, trying desperately to bury her sadness.  "The spots are finally fading, but she's having some trouble with the fins."

            "Oh dear, I hope Madame Pomfrey is able to do something about that," he winked.  "I will be sure to have a less bulky model sent immediately.  Perhaps that will fill its purpose better than Snape's leftovers."

            "That wand gave me many years of excellent service, thank you," the professor called indignantly.

            As Dumbledore shut the door, he called, "Miss Kinter, while I approve of your reunion, I don't want you to forget your studies.  You only have twenty minutes to make it to your next class."

            "I'll be there."  She turned to Snape.  "See you later?"  

            "Not if I can help it," he teased.  She grinned openly at the blatant affection the Professor showered on her, then followed Dumbledore's path to the hallway, allowing the door latch to click softly behind her.


	8. Cold Feet

**Chapter 8:  Cold Feet[MSOffice1] **

            "This is bloody shit," quipped Ron, slamming the book shut.  Harry sighed.  After three hours of studying for his test the next day, his legs hurt, his back ached, and his temperament was far below its general level.

            "I've never even heard this word," Ron continued, having returned to Kenchi's assigned reading. "Grand-dee-loo-quence.  How does that have to do with anything?"

            "It's pronounced, grand-di-lo-quence, and it means pompous language.  You're supposed to talk down to a flibberty-gibbet, to assert your power."  Hermione's voice came muffled from the couch.

            "You know, you _could_ be helping us study.  After all, you're going over the same stuff."  Harry knew it was a futile attempt.  When he and Ron had come into the common room, Hermione's smile seemed forced and she refused to even acknowledge Ron.  Her admonition was the first thing she'd said to the red-head all day.  Obviously something had happened and neither was indulging information.

            As he predicted, Hermione rebuffed him.  "You're both big boys.  Figure it out yourselves.  I'm tired of being your walking encyclopedia."

            "Fine.  Be that way."  Harry could feel his boiling point being reached.  "Ron," he seethed, "I'll go ask Kenchi about that gabunkle ward.  I'll be back soon."

            "Harry, don't worry about it.  We can ask him tomorrow before the test-"

            "I _said_, I'll be back soon," he hissed through clenched teeth, then strode into the hallway.  He was at the end of his rope.  His N.E.W.T. classes proved extremely difficult and, for the first time since his O.W.L.s, he began to doubt his ability to pass them.  Both Hermione and Ron were acting wishy-washy: hot one moment, cold the next.  He never knew when some offhand comment would set Hermione off, and any negative remarks about A.M. brought Ron's reproach.

            Everyone seemed so testy this year and Harry wasn't sure if it wasn't just fears of Voldemort.  There was the electrical charge of hormones and teenage trials between the girls and boys, replacing the fanciful crushes of their younger years.  While it all seemed so trivial now, Harry sensed that he was experiencing some of the most pivotal years of his life.

            As captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he felt that he held a responsibility to maintain plutonic relationships with all the players.  But one of the new fourth years, a perky little brunette, continually captured his attention, making that very difficult.  Had it not been for some tricky and, albeit, dirty flying in the match against Ravenclaw, he would have missed the Snitch because he couldn't keep his eyes focused.  He didn't like these feelings in him, but seemed powerless against them.  Even Hermione, who was nothing more than a friend, looked good to him.

            More so than the new Gryffindor player, A.M. challenged his resolve in ways he couldn't understand.  She was so willing, so eager to please him, to make him smile or laugh, but he couldn't allow himself to be overcome by her easy grin.  It seemed too simple to fall for her, and he sensed much hidden away in her.  Her smile would seem forced when people would talk about their parents and occasionally he would catch her wiping away a seemingly unnoticed tear.  

            While this didn't make a person irrevocably evil, combined with Snape's strange affections and odd events like the burn on her arm, Harry's intuition flashed red around her.  But how wonderful it would be to look into her cornflower eyes and forget everything else.

            The tinkling melody caught him by surprise, as the only time he remembered hearing music at Hogwarts was at the Yule ball two years ago and at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party (though musical saws hardly counted).  No music or chorus class was taught at the school and Harry had learned from his studies that it was next to impossible to enchant an instrument.  Radios and televisions didn't work inside the school; nevertheless, Strauss' "Blue Danube" drifted lazily down the hall. 

            As he traveled the corridor, the music grew louder.  Tension gripped him as he walked closer to the source.  Why would someone go to the trouble to bring music into Hogwarts?  What did it mean?

            The door was slightly propped and Harry saw it was the Room of Requirement, but when he peeked inside it was almost unrecognizable.  Gone were the ceiling-high bookshelves and burning torches.  A long window took up one entire wall, casting bright light, despite the dreary weather, across a highly polished wood floor.  The planks were laid in a checkerboard pattern using mahogany and redwood, and were so shiny they reflected the blush tones of the walls.  Chandeliers hung from the ceilings and the opulence of the room reminded Harry of pictures he had seen of Versailles.  

            But most surprising was not the ancient phonograph, whose crank was currently turning itself (probably bewitched), at the side of the room, but the figures twirling in the middle of the floor.  Snape, looking groomed and dignified in an ankle-length black robe, almost couldn't be the same man that taught the potions classes so severely; his cheeks contained a healthy glow, making him look rather handsome. 

            In his arms, with her back turned to Harry, danced a girl with long, light blonde curls.  Her hands, one on the professor's, the other on his shoulder, were a pale ivory, perfect as porcelain.  Harry, his heart beating frantically, waited for them to turn so that he could see her face, to prove that it was the mystery girl, but at that moment the music stopped.

            "Left foot first, for the last time!" the professor chastised his partner.  

            "Well, I'm sorry," the girl retorted and Harry instantly recognized her voice and accent.  "I thought you were talking about _your_ left foot.  You should make your instructions more clear."

            "Why would I be telling myself which foot to move?  I already know how to dance."

            She snorted and took a sip of water from a glass on a nearby table.  "Why is it so damn important anyway?  Honestly, I haven't been attending many golden jubilees lately."

            "I'm trying to teach you grace and civility, something you've unfortunately lacked for a long time."

            "How charming you can be, Severus," she shot back.  "With compliments like that, I can't understand why the girls aren't banging down your office door."  She turned to flash the teacher a conniving smile, but he had turned away.  Only Harry could see her pale, glowing face, her amethyst eyes shining in the light.  "Severus?" she asked hesitantly, standing on tip-toe to see what he was staring at.

            The teacher seemed frozen in place.  His face grew red and his eyes became slits.  Finally he rushed forward and threw the door open, exposing Harry.  He didn't even have time to panic before the teacher drug him into the room.  "Potter!"  Snape yelled in his ear.  "So you think looking at people's private memories isn't enough, do you?  Now you have to spy on them too?!"

            "I… I…"  Harry tried to speak, but was too frightened.  Snape looked angry enough to kill.  His fingers dug painfully into Harry's shoulders and his vision began to flash red from lack of air where the professor had a grip on the neck of his robe.

            "Professor Snape, if I might intervene," the girl called smoothly, stepping between the seething man and the squirming boy.  "Harry has done no harm and might actually do some good."

            "Get him out of here before I do something worse than just give him detention!"  He yanked his wand from his belted robe and pointed it at Harry.

            "Come now, Professor Snape, let him stay."  The girl's eyes crinkled as her mouth pulled into a smirk.  Suddenly Harry wondered if she might not be the bigger threat between the two.  "I could use some practice with my waltz."

            "Surely you're joking!  This degenerate is a spy and-"

            "-My new dance partner."  She stared coldly at Snape and Harry felt something pass between them.  The teacher visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropped, and he turned back to his normal shade of white.

              Harry began backing toward the door.  He longed to stay, to touch the girl's soft hands and waist, but felt the dangerous electricity in the air.  He knew he would lose his head if he were to breathe in her scent and wanted to keep control.  "Where are you going?"  the mysterious girl asked and dragged him by the sleeve onto the dance floor.  She placed one of his hands on the small of her back, the other in the air between them.  He swallowed and found his throat to be dry.

            "Mr. Potter, you must put more pressure in your arms.  I don't intend to lead this dance."  With that, she nodded to Snape.  "Maestro, some music, please."

            A regal waltz erupted scratchily from the ancient phonograph and Harry found himself turning slow circles on the wooden tiles.  He grinned cockily at his dance partner, mistaking her brazen actions for flirtation.  "What's this about?"  

            "Now that we have some quiet," the girl started in a low voice, "I thought I made myself perfectly clear.  You have to stay away.  You're becoming far too unreserved.  Snape was really angry.  You could have gotten yourself in trouble."

            "Big words," he retorted, his bravery growing with each turn around the floor, "from someone who left the door propped open."  He had the information that gave him the power and insight over her.  He knew who she was.

            She snorted softly, then pulled him closer.  "Harry-"

            "This is more like it.  Now if only Snape wasn't here-"

            "Harry," she repeated, "you can't keep coming up on me like this.  It's dangerous, you don't know who I am-"

            He laughed.  "Yes I do, Gretta."

            She choked and tripped over her own feet, throwing off the beat as she tried to right herself.  Snape was immediately on guard, but settled back at a wave of the girl's hand.  "What did you say?" she asked, distress gripping her expression.

            "Don't worry, Gretta, your secret's safe with me."

            She looked at Snape, then back at him.  "Fine," she told him evenly, "you may call me whatever name you wish."

            "Gretta, meet me tonight.  In this room."

            She sighed.  "Harry, don't you listen?  You have to stay away.  Your curiosity may have helped you so far, but it will only get you in trouble."

            "You don't seem very troublesome to me," he told her, grinning flirtatiously, but her dark eyes remained grim.

            "I'm serious.  I don't want something to happen to you."

            "You don't seem like the type to make death threats."

            She looked at the floor and whispered, "There are things worse than death."

            The music died away and Snape came over.  "My dear," he said sharply, addressing the girl, "I hope you've satisfied your need for variety in dance partners."  She looked up and both Snape and Harry saw the tear trail slowly down her ivory cheek.

            "What have you done?" Snape snarled, baring his teeth at Harry.  "Get out!"  Confused and stunned what had just happened, he found himself frozen in place.  What had he said to make the girl cry?  "I said, GET OUT!" the Professor screamed, jolting him out of his stupor.  He rushed for the door and ran blindly down the hall, desperate to be anywhere but that room.   The walls were a blur around him as he moved quicker than he could ever remember, too frightened to check behind him for pursuers.

            He turned the corner and collided with something very solid.  Tumbling to the floor, he barely caught a glimpse of what had tripped him.  It, or she rather, had strawberry-blonde hair.

            "In a hurry, Harry?" she asked, helping him to his feet.  _'Oh, not now please.  I don't think I can take Gretta _and _A.M. at one time.'_  

            "Uh, yeah, I have to… uh… talk to Kenchi about the test."  He hoped his lie was convincing to her, because he certainly wouldn't believe it.  He looked nervously back down the hall, but no one had given chase.

            She nodded knowingly.  "Gabunkle problems?  Me too.  I'll go with you."  _'Damnit.  That didn't work out like it was supposed to.'_

            "You didn't hear any music just a couple a minutes ago in here, did you?" he asked, walking down the hall, frustrated that she easily matched his quickened pace.

            "No, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever heard music in Hogwarts.  Kind of funny, isn't it?"

            "I suppose."  He shrugged.  If he was going to be stuck with her, he might as well get some information out of her.  Maybe he could figure out what she was hiding.

            "So, why'd you come to Hogwarts?" he asked.

            "Well, I was learning a lot at my old school, but… circumstances required me to switch schools."

            "Circumstances?"

            "Yeah," she said, then abruptly went silent.

            "So, where are your parents?  I mean, you're obviously not from here originally."

            "My father is… dead."

            He nodded.  "Yeah, my parents were murdered.  By Vold- I mean, you-know-who.  You probably already know."

            "You can say Voldemort around me.  It's okay.  I won't freak out.  Yeah, you could say he murdered my father."

            "Oh, I'm real sorry."  He put an arm around her, then caught her face.  She looked surprised and blushed slightly.  He quickly pulled it away and secretly chastised himself.  How would he resist her if he couldn't keep his hands off her?  "Uh, anyway- so, are you staying with relatives?"

            "You could say that."

            "You don't give very definite answers, do you?"

            She shrugged.  "Would you feel any better if I did?"

            "I don't know," he replied.  "With the way you talk, it sounds like I wouldn't."

            "We're all running from the same things.  Fear.  Weakness.  The past.  What could I tell you that you don't already know?"  He looked at her.  "Harry, we're more alike than you'll ever understand.  If you want to know me, look at yourself."

            He laughed.  "You're more mysterious than-" he caught himself.  He'd almost said, "Gretta," despite his promise to keep her secret.  _'Stupid,'_ he thought, inwardly kicking himself.  She was looking at him, confusion in her eyes.  "-Than fried chicken," he finished lamely.

            She laughed.  "You have a strange sense of humor, Harry."  He found himself grinning back at her.

            "So, uh… what exactly is going on between you and Ron?  You two an item?"

            "Oh, no," she denied, vigorously shaking her head.  "There's someone else with dibs on him."  

            "Dibs?  Who?"

            She giggled.  "You mean you don't know?  Well, I certainly won't give her away.  Besides, he's a nice guy, but I've kind of had a crush on this other person for a couple years now, not really easy to give up the ghost."

            "You should go for him," he advised absentmindedly, busy fighting his jealousy.

            "Oh, I really don't think he's interested.  Who knows, maybe I'll try some other time."

            "No, really, you're pretty.  You could have just about any guy you wanted."

            She stopped.  "Are you suggesting something, Harry?"

            He felt himself go red and grow extremely hot at the collar.  "Uh… no.  Well, here we are.  Kenchi's room."

            She knocked on the door, and gave Harry one last look before it opened, revealing the kind-faced professor.  "Well, hello students.  Might I be of service?"

            "Yes, we were hoping you could help us with the gabunkle ward."

            "Yes, of course."  They walked in and opened their books.  "Harry, let me see you perform the ward.  I can give you constructive criticism."  

            "All right."  He pursed his lips, concentrating hard.  _"Collendulum!"  A cloud of red, glittering smoke burst from the tip of his wand._

            "Very nice, Mr. Potter.  Just make sure that you rotate your wrist slightly.  That will give you a thicker cloud."  Harry repeated the ward, making the correct adjustments, and indeed, the cloud was thicker and took longer to dissipate.  "Excellent," the teacher praised.

            "Shall I try now, Professor Kenchi?" A.M. asked, her wand poised and ready.

            "No, Miss Kinter, how about you just explain it to me."  Kenchi looked nervous until she pocketed the wand, probably thinking of the many accidents she caused in class.  She was worse than Neville at times.  She shrugged and gave the steps, one-by-one.

            "Precisely.  If you can perform the ward like that, you should have no problems."

            "Thank you, Professor," Harry told him, walking to the door with A.M. in tow.

            "Ah, Mr. Potter, might you stay a bit longer?  I was hoping to speak to you," he looked at A.M., "privately."

            "I have to get going anyway," she said.  "I'll see you later, Harry."  She waved and closed the door behind her.  Harry took in a deep, refreshing gulp of air and realized he'd been sucking in his stomach since he'd run into A.M.

            "Harry, do sit down.  I'm sure you'll want to be comfortable for this conversation."

            Harry sat at the table closest to the slight professor.  "What's going on?  I thought I was doing well in class."

            "This has nothing to do with our class, Mr. Potter.  Rather, we must discuss the prophecy that Headmaster Dumbledore revealed to you last year."

            Harry was instantly on edge.  "How do you know about that?" he asked guardedly.  

            "Do not worry, Dumbledore did not tell everyone of your secret.  However, because I am a devout follower of Dang Ta, he felt I would be best to talk with: to answer your questions and put your fears to rest."

            "No offense, but I don't understand why you would be any more qualified to tell me about it than anyone else."  He realized how rude he sounded and repeated, "No offense."

            The teacher chuckled.  "Mr. Potter, you needn't worry about offending me.  Perhaps I should explain.  I have taught the teachings of Dang Ta to you before.  However, prophecies play a special role in this philosophy.  Everything is fate.  Therefore, all prophecies are realized.  

            "Many of those more involved in scientific wizardry have abandoned the idea of prophecies, but over ninety-eight percent of those prophecies stored at the national ministries come true.  Dang Ta feels this is proof of fate and the way it plays into our lives.  However, prophecies are more definite.  There is no changing it by missing a certain piece of information or reading or not reading a certain book.  There is no changing your destiny."

             Harry felt a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach.  "What are you trying to say?"  he inquired, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

            "Sixty percent of prophecies are realized by age eighteen.  Eighty-nine percent are realized by twenty.  Ninety-three by age twenty-five.  Only six percent of the last part of prophecies occur after thirty.  Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

            "I'm afraid I'm not quite following."

            "While I must admit, Mr. Potter, the most famous prophecies have usually occurred later in life, you have an eighty-nine percent chance of meeting your fate in the next four years."

            "Four years?"  He swallowed, but found his mouth to be dry.  "I have to kill Voldemort in the next four years?"

            Kenchi cleared his throat and crossed his arms.  "The prophecy does not guarantee that you will defeat Voldemort.  It only promises that one of you shall die and one of you shall live."

            "So, the only thing you can tell me is that this big fight will _probably happen within the next four years."  Harry felt the frustration rise in his chest.  _

            "I'm sorry, Harry.  I am not a seer.  I can only tell you what Dang Ta says and statistics show.  But I'm not trying to frighten you; I'm trying to make you aware of the truth.  This will allow you to prepare more thoroughly for the battle ahead."

            "What can I do to get ready?"

            "I understand that you can not learn every piece of knowledge in the world.  You are welcome to come to me and I can help you wean what information will best help you."  He raised an eyebrow.  "Perhaps we could start with occlumency?"

            For the first time since the conversation started, Harry felt some of the pressure lift from his shoulders.  "Thank you, Professor."

            "Of course.  You are free to go anytime you like, unless you have questions for me."

            "I do, actually.  What do you know about that prophecy about the royal line?"

            "My, I haven't heard that mentioned in decades.  I certainly wasn't expecting you to know about it."

            Harry leaned forward in his chair.  "So, is it true?"

            "Well, most prophecies do not go so long without sign of fulfillment.  It's been over twenty years with no sign of the prophecy coming true.  Plus, Princess Gretta was the last of the line.  The British Ministry has researched the royal line for years now and they've found no other trace anywhere.  While I can't say for sure, I'm guessing that it's a joke, as everyone suspects."

            "Is there any way Gretta could still be alive?"

            Kenchi shrugged.  "Everyone thought Peter Pettigrew was dead until just recently.  I would suppose that anything is possible.  However, they found her dead body in her apartment.  It would be very difficult to fake a death such as that."

            Harry finally stood.  "Well, thanks again, Professor.  That really was helpful."

            "I mean it, Mr. Potter.  You are welcome to come prepare with me anytime."

            "I will be sure to take you up on your offer," he answered, his voice thick with relief.  With that, Harry left the room, finally alone with his thoughts.

* * *

[MSOffice1]Chapter 8


	9. Promenades and Promises

**Chapter 9: Promenades and Promises**

            A.M. surveyed her room.  The fireplace, only recently roaring with bright orange flames, was barely smoldering.  Her bed was neatly made and the windows were pulled tightly shut.  She was ready to go.  Running a brush through her hair, she was sure to lock her door behind her, then skipped down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

            She'd finally made a good impression on Harry, she was sure of it.  He seemed genuinely interested in her the day before and that strangely lifted her spirits more than anything.  _'Sure, Voldemort may be after you,'_ she thought sarcastically, _'but you finally didn't screw up talking to a guy.  Maybe you'll get through this school thing after all.'  Not even her ever-nagging critical self could pull her from her good mood._

            She put her hand around the tear-drop aquamarine, dangling from a delicate chain around her neck.  It had been her mother's and, supposedly, it held a luck charm.  If that was true, it was certainly working.  She'd found a new, slimmer, smaller wand, along with a newspaper on her doorstep.  While the Prophet had no new events, the wand would be very helpful.

            The castle halls were growing cooler everyday and the smell of autumn was in the air.  She basked in the glow coming in the many high windows, streaming down the walls and onto the floors.  Students seemed to gather in these pools of light, but this morning was an exception.  When people had returned from dinner the night before, the Fat Lady had announced to each and every Gryffindor that there would be an important announcement the next morning.  Everyone was eager to hear what Dumbledore had to say, no matter to whether the news was good or bad.

            "A.M.," she heard a cold, syrupy voice call.  She turned to see none other than Draco Malfoy walking toward her, his platinum hair blinding in the sunbeams.  "Might we have a word?"

            She disliked her Potions partner more than anyone else in the school.  He was everything her father had prided in a person, and therefore everything she lacked (Not that she ever wished to be like Malfoy.).  While Draco treated her amiably, she was sure he would take the first moment to betray her if he could.  Especially if he knew.

            "Draco, I'm in a hurry.  There's an important announcement at breakfast and-"

            "Yes, I received word of that as well.  Well, might we talk afterward?  I'm sure you'll find what I have to say," he paused to lick his lips, "quite appealing."

            "I'll certainly find it gripping, Malfoy," she told him, secretly thinking that the only thing she'd like to grip after talking to that slimy boy would be a porcelain rim.  She hurried quickly down the hall, refusing to turn back to see if he was following, for fear he would think she wanted to continue communication.  _'If only _Harry_ would be that forward.'_

            Once she arrived at the Great Hall, she searched for Hermione, the one person she considered her best friend at Hogwarts.  This was by no means an admission that they were close; it only meant Hermione was the only girl who wasn't horribly jealous of A.M., or at least didn't make it obvious.  "Has Dumbledore said anything yet?" she asked her, sitting down in an empty seat.

            "No, but I must admit, I've never seen any man consume so much bacon."

            "Ah, well, eccentricies are what make us all unique, right?"

            "Hmmm… I suppose."

            At that minute they were interrupted by a disturbance at the head table.  Filch had run in, carrying something and was talking quietly with McGonagall.  "Is this something to do with the big announcement?" some disembodied voice asked.

            A.M. studied the deep creases forming on the Transfiguration professor's face.  "I… don't think so," she said to no one in particular.  She was getting the skin-tightening, tingling feeling she got when something horrible was about to happen.  She shivered with a cold chill, trying to release her sudden abounding energy.

            "You, okay, A.M.?"  Hermione asked.

            A.M. shook her head and pointed to McGonagall, who was now speaking to the headmaster.  "Something's happened.  You can see it in their faces."  The golden cloud on which she'd been floating all morning burst, dropping her back to reality.  Everyday Voldemort grew closer to finding her and, despite Snape's assurances, she wouldn't have felt safe if she'd been surrounded by fifty Aurors and a dragon.  She was merely a refugee here at Hogwarts and any bad news never bode well for her.

            The headmaster stood, silencing the whispers of the room with a raised hand.  "While I expected to make a far more cheerful announcement, I must unfortunately begin our morning with a rather grim statement.  I'm sure most of you remember Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour, who visited us several years ago during the Triwizard Cup.  Unfortunately, she disappeared after leaving Gringotts Bank one evening last week.  There's no sign of any struggle, so right now the Ministry is considering this a runaway case."  A.M. was distracted by Ron loudly whispering to Harry a little ways down the table.

            "If any of you have any information as to Fleur's whereabouts, it would be greatly appreciated if you would let us know.  The sooner the Ministry can find her, the better.  It's quite important-"

            Ron stood up on his seat, turning all eyes on him, chairs dragging on the tiles as everyone spun to look.  The redhead's face matched his hair, but he interrupted the headmaster.  "She didn't run away."

            "Would you happen to have word from her, Mr. Weasley?"

            "Well, I… no.  But I do know she was eloping with my brother this Christmas holiday."

            "Oh, really?  Your brother gave no mention to this when questioned."

            "It was supposed to be a secret.  Fred, George, Ginny and I were all invited, but they didn't want to tell mum and dad.  Fleur was really excited about it.  She _wouldn't_ run away."

            "I have two men from the French Ministry here investigating the disappearance.  Mr. Weasley, would you mind speaking to them privately?"

            Ron shrugged.  "If it will help them find Fleur, sure."  He walked out in the hall, where the Aurors were apparently waiting.

            "Who's Fleur?"  A.M. whispered to Hermione.

            "Well, she went to Beauxbaxtons in France and came here for the Triwizard Tournament a couple years ago.  She's part veela, you know: blonde, gorgeous."

            "Blonde?" A.M. asked, her heart skipping a beat.  "With pale skin, the like?"

            "So you have seen a veela before?  I mean, I didn't see one until my fourth year, but I'm from a muggle family.  I figured you would know all about them, but then you acted like you didn't-"

            "Oh, uh…" A.M. did not even bother to respond to Hermione's ramblings.  Her mind was scrambling for some form of action.  She could not just sit here, so her subconscious sprang for what it thought was the most rational thing to do.  "Maybe I better go talk to Dumbledore."  She sprinted to the front of the room.  "Professor Dumbledore?  Can we talk?"

            "I already know what you're going to say, Miss Kinter.  I've talked the Minister of Magic myself and he's promised to triple the search efforts.  If there's a chance that she can be rescued, she will be.  Also, Professor McGonagall has already taken the liberty to strengthen the locking charms on all your doors and windows.  Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

            Her heart rate slowed considerably.  "No, you've covered more than I was even going to ask."

            "You are certainly free to take your seat again, if you'd like."  She nodded and returned to her chair.

            Hermione was eyeing her strangely, making her wonder if there was something stuck in her teeth.  "Are you all right?" she asked.

            "Did you run track at your old school?"

            "No, we didn't have a track team.  Why?"

            "I think you might have broken a world record running up there."  A.M. laughed nervously and was very glad that Dumbledore continued to speak.

            "After that slight interruption, I feel it is time to tell you some good news.  Hogwarts is a very old school, rich with history and knowledge.  We have had many traditions, from Christmas to Halloween to trying to break as many rules as possible in a single week.  However, time changes, and with it, so must Hogwarts.  

            "I have been approached by many muggle-born students asking for a promenade, a yearly tradition at most muggle high schools.  It seemed only fair that I regard this request, and after much deliberation by a panel," Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick all stood and took a quick bow, "and myself, we decided to enact a dance for sixth and seventh years only."  There was a collective groan from the younger students.

            "However, because of the stress of the end of the year, we've decided to hold the dance after Christmas break and have a winter theme.  If you would like to join the planning committee, be certain to tell Professor Sprout.  She will be glad for you help, I'm sure."  He abruptly sat back down and as the tables filled with breakfast delights, the hall erupted with excited whispering.  

            "We haven't had a dance here in two years," Hermione told, A.M.  

            "Really?  I've never even been to a dance."

            Hermione's mouth shaped into a perfect O, and A.M. realized she'd said too much.  "You've _never_ been to any dance?"

            "Oh, well, they had them at my old school," A.M. lied, "I just never went to one.  Couldn't get a date."

            Her companion looked her up and down.  "_You couldn't get a date?"_

            "What are you suggesting?"

            Hermione quickly went red in the face.  "Nothing, I'm just… surprised, that's all."  A.M's heart went out to the poor girl.  After all, it would be quite difficult to befriend your crush's crush.

            "Just because a guy would ask me to the dance," she worded carefully, "doesn't mean that I would accept.  Especially if there was someone I would rather take."  She raised an eyebrow and was pleased to see Hermione's posture relax.  She didn't have to say it, but Hermione seemed to radiate one feeling: thanks.  "Which leads me to my next question: who are you taking?"

            "A.M., let's not play this girlish game.  We both know who the other would like to go with and we both know that it's unlikely that either of those boys will ask us."  She sighed.  "I'll probably end up going with Neville."

            "You mean, that's not who you wanted to go with?"

            "Stop it!  That's not funny."  At that exact moment the clumsy boy walked up to the whispering girls, his hands folded behind his back.  "Hermione, I was just wondering-"

            "I'm sorry, Neville, someone else already asked me."

            "Oh…" he looked flustered.  "Well, if you're already helping someone study tonight, could you help me with Transfigurations tomorrow?"

            A.M. burst into peals of laughter, tears coming out the corners of her squinched eyes.  "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry," Hermione stumbled over her words, "I thought this was about something else.  Sure, I can help you study tonight."  The boy walked away looking confused and Hermione shot her friend a dirty look.  "Yeah, yeah, very funny."

            "At this rate, you won't even be going with Neville!" A.M. cackled.  It was wonderful to sit around laughing like a normal girl and talking _to _normal girls.  Instead of-

            "Ready to go?"  Hermione asked, already pushing away from the table.

            "Oh, yeah.  Just kind of got wrapped up in my own thoughts.  Happens, you know."

            The girls walked out of the room, both catching glances to see if the two boys were looking their way, but they were disappointed.  "I got a new wand," A.M. told Hermione, making small talk to try to get the boys out of her head.

            "Really?  You think it will work better than your other one?"

            "I hope so.  I don't think it could be much worse."  The two were sharing a giggle when they were interrupted by Draco coming up from behind and putting an arm around A.M.'s shoulders.

            "Hello doll," he grinned his devilish smile for A.M.'s affect.  Mudblood," he sniffed as an afterthought, addressing Hermione.  "How about that word you promised me?"

            "Try getting your arm off me, Malfoy, and I _really_ don't remember promising you anything.  If you'd like, we may talk, but you must stop taking such liberties with me."  

            Draco's smooth appearance seemed to falter momentarily, but he quickly plastered on a charming grin.  "Well, I was thinking: you may be Gryffindor and associated with that dumb mudblood over there," he pointed a hand over at her curly-haired friend, "but Snape seems to like you, so you can't be all bad.  And while I was coming over merely to ask you to accompany me on the next trip to Hogsmeade, I thought I would give you the chance to join me for the promenade."

            "I'm sorry?  You want to give me the chance to do… what?"  A.M. had to work hard to keep her jaw from dropping.  Surely this was some sort of joke.

            "The chance to come to the promenade with me."  Draco offered it like a game show host offers a new car to a contestant, fully expecting a scene of hysterics followed by an unstoppable flow of "thank you."

              She looked from his impeccable visage to Hermione's own mask of horror.  "Um, if I may so blunt, Malfoy, I will make a deal with you."

            "Certainly you may make a proposal."

            "Alright, here it is: when I am turned down by every other boy at Hogwarts, I will gladly accept your invitation.  You can wait to see if that happens, or you can give some other lucky girl 'the chance.'"  Her friend burst into a frenzy of laughing and clapping, startling a few lone students walking the halls.  

            Draco raked a hand through his slick hair.  "I see.  Well, A.M., that can certainly be arranged."  He stepped closer, reveling in the discomfort apparent on her face.  "Don't play games with me.  I can make your life heaven, but if you cross me," he hissed, "I'll give you hell on earth.  You'd do well to remember that."  With that he spun on his heel and walked away as regally as possible as someone who'd just been rebuffed for a date.

            "Was he serious?" A.M. asked Hermione, chuckling.

            "The only thing worse than being asked out by Draco Malfoy is winning first place in an ugly contest." She cocked her head, contemplating.  "No, make that Miss Congeniality."

            As they traipsed up the steps to their rooms, Hermione grabbed A.M.'s sleeve, halting her.  "A.M, I don't know how Harry could turn you down for the dance.  You are a riot a minute."

            She shrugged.  "Hey, I've got to have something to make up for my shoddy magic skills.  I suppose humor is the natural alternative.  Anyway, Harry and I spent some time together when we ran into each other and, who knows, I really think I made some headway."  She sighed.  "I think he might just like me."

            Hermione's mouth formed an "O" and was, for a moment, at a loss for words.  "Uh, A.M., I think you should know: I met with Ron and Harry yesterday and Harry was telling Ron, that day you're talking about, he couldn't wait to get rid of you." 


	10. The Fall of Alexandria

**Chapter 10: The Fall of Alexandria**

**Author's Note:  _Just a quick warning: this chapter has a bit of strong language (not vulgar, just harsh).  I think it lends a feeling of realism to the piece.  However, if you find it offensive, please, let me know, and I'll take that into consideration for later chapters. _**

            A.M. opened her eyes to see the creamy silk canopy of her bed.  When she had applied to Hogwarts, she had asked for no special treatment, but received her own dorm nonetheless.  Now she was grateful for the privacy.

            The room spread out in a crimson and gold glory.  An ornate folding screen hid a deep marble bath and sink, daily laden with plush, fresh towels by the house elves.  Her few meager belongings were strewn haphazardly across a cherry vanity, complete with oval mirror and gold inlay.  Her fireplace had already been lit and was crackling merrily, an iron teapot warming above the flames.  In other words, the room was incredibly posh and well cared for- much more so than any other room in the school.

            Not ready to put her feet on the cold, stone floor of the round boudoir, she simply rolled away from the sun streaming in the windows.  She wasn't planning to go back to sleep, but would welcome it if it came.

            As her thoughts drifted to Harry, she felt a quick, sharp pang in her chest.  She thought that if she showed that she was a good person and appealed to the positive attributes she saw in him, he'd come around- but that apparently was not the case.  _'One more try,'_ she promised herself.  _'One more and I'll know there's no chance.' _ With that resolution, her only task was to work on dragging herself from the warmth of her bed.  A knock brought her stumbling across the room to open the heavy door. 

            Outside her room stood Parvarti, impatiently tapping her foot.  "May I help you?" A.M. asked, slightly annoyed that the other girl was now trying to peek in her room.

            "Oh, yeah.  That Weasley guy wants to talk to you.  He sent me up here to see if you could come down and talk…  hey, your room looks a lot bigger than mine-"

            "Yes, well, thank you for the message, Parvarti.  Just tell Ron I'll be down in a few minutes."  With that she closed the door, protecting herself from further spying.

            A.M. knew what Ron wanted to talk about and was in no mood to deal with that particular can of worms.  _'He could have Hermione at his beck and call.  Why would he want me instead?'_  A.M. didn't consider herself particularly intelligent and certainly her magic was unimpressive.  While she had other wizarding skills, no one knew anything about them, so those couldn't be grounds for an attraction.  She was pretty, but if Hermione would fix herself up a little, they'd rival each other physically.  She had a fairly good sense of humor, but the lies and secrets- no joke could make up for what A.M. was hiding.  The fact was, she was a mental mess with no mother and a strange affinity for the most hated teacher in school.  No exactly someone you'd take home to mum.

            She quickly pulled her hair back and threw on the wrinkled sweats she had worn last weekend.  When one was about to reject another's feelings, one should at least have the decency to rough up her appearance.  The only thing worse than being dumped is not being able to make fun of the dumper.  A.M. would make it easy for Ron.

            She found the redhead pacing nervously at the foot of the stairs, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.  If A.M. were to put her potential dance dates on a spectrum, Ron would be to the far left.  While he'd become more sure of himself since they'd met, he certainly wasn't any maverick.  He constantly suffered from foot-in-mouth and a sheen of sweat on his brow.  If he were to take more time to consider his words, he'd be less of an embarrassment to himself.  He was a good person, just a little naive and spastic.

            Draco fell on the other end.  He was an egoist, only interested in others if it benefited him.  He sickened A.M. with his arrogance.  She hoped he choked on it.  No amount of money or power could get her to touch him, let alone become romantically involved.  While A.M. was usually a pacifist, after seeing the way he treated Hermione (the words "sickening, bigoted racist" had replayed in her head for hours after their meeting), she vowed to use his own tactics against him, if the chance were to come about. 

            But Harry made up the happy median.  He was quietly confident, sure of his own actions, but not willing to admit so aloud.  How could he not be after he'd thwarted Voldemort so many times?  A.M. didn't know if it was skill or blind luck, but he always came out on the good side of things.  He'd been feeling some turmoil lately, especially after what had happened to his poor godfather (despite his failure to acquire the prophecy, Voldemort was delighted to hear of Sirius' demise).  A.M. could sense his underlying anger, but even more than that, a never-ending determination.  She'd read in an antique psychology book that ambitious people often had horrible tempers (droning and pages about masking their disappointment in themselves or something of the like), so Harry was indeed a shade better personality-wise than most men of his caliber.  

            But what he hid most was his bravery.  When A.M. first saw him two years ago, he astounded her with his ability to face his fears.  He never called for mercy, never surrendered to impossible odds.  Yet, he wasn't boastful here at school.  In fact, many of the fellow students riddled him with teasing, but he quietly withstood it.      

             "Ron?"  It was more of a question than a statement, yet it was enough to bring the boy to attention.  

            "Uh, A.M.?  What happened?"  He was wrinkling his nose at her shiny face and messy hair.

            "Nothing.  I just wanted to hurry down here."

            "Oh, okay."  He moved closer, and she could feel his breath on her exposed ear.  "Can we talk in private?"

            "Oh, sure," she replied and followed him out of the common room.  They walked down the hall in silence for several minutes, Ron's arms still stiffly behind his back.

"So… what's up?" Ron finally stammered, his eyes glued on the floor.  A.M. could feel his nervousness and it was making her tense as well.  She was extremely sensitive to other's feelings: a blessing and a curse.  When she was in control, she was able to better interact with others, but when she lost the fragile balance, she would mirror their emotions, both positive and negative.

"The same stuff that was up last night.  What's so important that you needed to get me out of bed?"

"Oh, I didn't know you were still asleep.  I'm real sorry."

She shrugged.  "I was just lazing around.  I needed someone to get me up."  She had to play this carefully.  Obviously, she would hurt his feelings when turned him down for the dance, but, if not done correctly, she'd either scar him for life or not get the point across and end up having to go through the same situation at some time in the near future.  A.M.'s goal was to make her plutonic feelings perfectly clear, but still keep Ron as a friend.  While the more obvious reason for this would be the fragile connection between Harry and her that the redhead represented, in truth, A.M. liked the boy.  He had a good heart and, in a different place, perhaps something could have sprung up between the two.

"A.M., would you go with me to Hogsmeade?  The next visit is on Saturday and-"

She sighed and hung her head.  "I'm sorry, Ron.  I can't."

He turned red and perspiration became visible on the underarms of his shirt.  "Oh, well, how about the dance?  Do you have a date?"

"No."

"Oh, well, if you don't have a date, maybe you and I-"

"Ron," she put a hand on his shoulder.  "I don't have a date.  But I won't go with you to the dance."

His mouth opened and shut a few times as he stared at her.  "What do you mean?  I thought you… all this time we spend together… that you were interested…"

"Ron, it just wouldn't work out between us.  I think you're a wonderful friend, but a friend is all you are."

"So you've been leading me on?!"  His eyes narrowed

"I haven't been leading you on!  How many times have I invited you to do anything?  Not a one.  You've instigated any time we've spent together.  And your grades reflect that.  I've been working my ass off to help you with that History class."

He placed his hands on his hips and A.M. tried hard to block out images of her mother chastising her as a child.  "That's utter crap.  You didn't have to spend all that time with me.  You could have said no.  Instead you decided to be a cocktease."

"Excuse me?!"  Her chest tightened and she struggled to keep from throttling him.  "I understand you're upset, so, as long as you apologize, I won't lose my temper."

"Apologize?  You're the one who should do that.  You know, every girl is the same.  You act like you want it, then as soon as you know you have the guy on a string, you don't-"

"Want _it_?" she spat.  "What exactly is _it_?"

"You know what I mean-"

"Oh, are you referring to sexual intercourse?"  A.M. smiled cruelly at the flush that enveloped his face.  "So now if a girl helps you with your homework, it means she wants to get into your tightie whities?  Why would any girl want sleep with a guy that can't even refer to the act?  Awfully immature, don't you think?"

"Go to hell."  He made a rude hand gesture and began to walk back toward the Gryffindor tower.  

"And what about Hermione?"

He swung around quickly, his face contorted in anger.  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"I heard you in the hallway.  I know about the letter-"

"The shit you know about some letter.  You don't know anything about Hermione and me.  So stay out of it."

"I've talked to her.  And I'm not an idiot.  I know that you liked her before I got here, and I figure you still do."  She laughed.  "Talk about a cocktease.  You write the poor girl a letter confessing your supposed undying love, then as soon as you have her interested in you, you don't want her."

"I didn't write the damn letter!"  She felt herself grow weak against the power of his anger, but she'd never found an outlet for the hurt and anguish of the past years.  Ron had unleashed a power decades in the making and she couldn't stop it.

"You _did _write that letter!  Don't freaking stand there and lie to me!  I _hate _liars!"  Then the truth hit her, so hard it hurt.  _She _was just as bad as Ron.  She was the liar.  _'I'm only trying to protect myself,'_ she justified.  But her anger was gone.  "You know, you're right, Ron," she said quietly.  "You're wrong about me trying to seduce you and all that, but you're right about the rest.  You and Hermione are none of my business.  You and Hermione and Harry, you're my friends- well, I hope you are- but you have your own lives, separate from mine and-"

Ron waved his hand, stopping her in mid-sentence.  He peered into her eyes, squinting.  "What did you say?"

"I said that you and Hermione and Harry-"

"See, there it is again."  He chuckled bitterly and began scratching at the back of his head.  "I can't believe I didn't see it before."

"See what?"

"When you say his name, you get this look in your eyes and you kind of smile funny."

"Ron," she was losing her patience, "what are you talking about?"

"You're in love with Harry, aren't you?"  He didn't give her time to answer.  "I mean, you don't just have some stupid crush, like I do; you're really in love with him."

            "Fuck off."

            "All this time, I thought it was me you were interested in, but it was Harry.  My _best_ friend."  He grinned eagerly and leaned toward her.  "Does he know?"

            "I _said_, fuck off."

            "So what was I, bait?  You hook the worm and maybe you'll catch the big fish?"

            "I'm leaving now," she stated matter-of-factly, and spun on her heel, ready to head anywhere but that tense spot in the hall.

            She heard a quite murmur behind her: "Slut."

            "So first I was a prude and now I'm a slut?  Well, that doesn't make much sense, does it?"  She felt wetness on her cheeks and was surprised to feel tears flowing freely from her eyes.  "I didn't want to hurt anybody and I wasn't using you, I promise.  

            "He's not interested, believe me.  He hates you.  And even if he did like you, he's a good friend.  He knows you're my territory-"

            "I'm sorry?!  I am no one's territory!  Perhaps your friend respects your interests, but it's not because I belong to you.  You can just forget that idea right now."

            "Whatever.  Just give it up.  He's not going to go for you.  Ever.  He's got some other girl on his brain."

            She blanked her face to hide the pain in her heart.  "I had hoped we'd leave this conversation as friends, but that seems to be your choice, not mine," she sobbed.  "I'm going to walk the other way now, so please, just drop it."

            "A.M., it doesn't make sense," Ron called after her.  "How can you love a guy who doesn't love you back, especially when you've only known him a few months?"

            "There's always things you don't know about a situation," she answered over her shoulder.  "As it is, I have all the facts and I still don't understand.  So, to answer your question, sometimes it doesn't have to make sense."

***

            Things were falling apart: she could feel it.  The Order of the Phoenix had worked diligently to create her a new life, but it wasn't a new start, it was only a turn in direction.  It was as if she had rounded a corner, but it seemed that people were peeking around it and seeing the footprints she'd tried so hard to cover.  

So Harry had it hard for the other girl?  After A.M. had worked so much to get him interested in her?  So what?  She had bigger things to worry about.  Like being discovered, for one.

            Even so, A.M. could not help but feel that there was more than just adolescent love interest at stake.  Something pushed her to find… answers, and Harry was the key to discovering them.  She'd known that since the moment she'd first seen him, but only now had a chance to learn the truth.  

            A.M's only comforting thought was the fact that Harry was going for the lost cause.  No matter how hard he tried to win the other girl, he'd never have her.  That girl knew the dangers of becoming emotionally attached, to involve another person in her twisted, eternally cursed life.  A.M. hated that girl, even longed to end her existence, but that would not happen.  The two would merely have to coexist, one wishing to be someone else, the other wishing only to be herself.  

            These were the sort of thoughts that plagued A.M.'s waking hours.  Many of the other students gossiped about the fact that, on days with no classes, she would often sleep past noon.  Her life had become so sordid, her subconscious seemed to be the only sane part of her left.  Had she been psychologically analyzed, the constant confusion, fatigue, and general malaise in which she lived would be diagnosed as post-traumatic stress syndrome.  However, the Order of the Phoenix had no ties to neurological specialists, so it was too risky to sneak one into Hogwarts.  A.M. knew that most of the members of the guerilla group cared for her general welfare, but secrecy was more important than slight inconsistencies in A.M.'s mental state.

            Perhaps this was why Ron's reaction had shaken her more than she let on.  She was usually good at handling conflicts, but had never expected the redhead's antagonistic snipes.  Still, after all she'd been through, she'd trained herself to handle almost any barb and had been able to bury her true emotions from the event.  It was his inference of serious feelings for Harry that scared her.  Was it true?  Had her simple crush turned to something bigger without her knowing?  She hadn't denied his assumptions, though she could have easily.  Was it a Freudian slip?  Did she indeed _love _Harry?

            It was frightening to think that such a powerful emotion could hide below the surface and avoid detection by its very owner.  So many questions of, "How do you know it's love?" were answered with a simple, "You just know," but that just wasn't true.  After all, many friends remain just that- friends, for years, only to get married decades later.  Certainly they didn't go all that time without knowing their real feelings, right?  A.M. had always prescribed to the idea of love at first sight, but knew that it could blindside a person as well.  After all, she'd owned While You Were Sleeping on VHS.  She had video documents on the idea.

            A crack of thunder had her jumping from her post by her fireplace.  She walked to the window to see the first of the heavy rain begin to fall.  Since her dorm was on the top floor of the tower, the rain roared on the thin roof and echoed through the circular room, even masking the usual creaks and groans of the ancient castle.  As A.M. looked around she realized that all her candles had burned down, leaving only the glow of her dying fire.  The sky was as dark as smoke, offering no warmth to the shadowy room.  Her throat tightened as she realized the black shadows behind the furniture could hide any number of dangers.  

            Lightning ate at the sky and lit the tower with a ghoulish strobe effect.  The gale, quickly closing in on the school, followed with another raucous clap of thunder.  However, the noise was not enough to mask that familiar cackle riding the wind.  _'Surely that's not him,'_ A.M.'s mind quickly raced, but was unable to catch the frantic pace of he heart.  _'Dumbledore and Snape promised he wouldn't find me.'_  Of course, she didn't believe that.  After all, Voldemort was the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen.  Even if he was stripped of his magic, he still had an incredibly impressive network of goons and henchmen.  It was ludicrous to think he wouldn't have someone on the inside, ready to rat her out.  

            The room suddenly felt entirely too large.  The door was miles away from her tiny figure, pressed against the frigid glass window.  If someone was in the room, there'd be no way she could reach it safely.  _'The wards, the guards, the spells: there's no way anyone could get past all of those,' _A.M. tried to convince herself.  _'Not this soon.  I'm safe.  Just take one step at a time towards the door.  Just one step at a time.'  _She nudged one foot an inch across the floor, but the fear was paralyzing.  What would Voldemort do when he found her?  Kill her like he did those other girls?  Cut out her heart?  

            She took a deep breath and ran for it.  She slipped on the ancient Persian rug, but was able to regain her balance and make it to the hallway.  There was no one behind her, no one trying to get to her.  A nervous, hysterical laugh escaped A.M.'s lips.  She was so paranoid that now she was even hearing voices and seeing things in the shadows.  _'Maybe it's time for a reality check,'_ she told herself, trying to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of her mind.    
  


            She was certainly entitled to a bit of paranoia.  She had barely escaped with her life.  Snape had come to her one night, when she'd been tossing in her tiny bed and whispered two words in her sleepy ear: "Back door."  With that he'd quickly disappeared down the hall, leaving A.M. with her bald terror.  She had always suspected that the day would come when the tides would turn, but she had never expected it to come so soon.  It had taken her ten minutes to pack her bag and two hours to reach the front door undetected.  

She'd spirited herself into the dark forests surrounding the village, where'd she'd slept until daylight.  Over the span of three months she'd made her way on foot across the countryside, traveling only along streets hidden from view by thick shrubbery and trees, and only when she was sure she wasn't being followed.  Obviously, this kind of behavior, when practiced over such a long time, could easily explain A.M.'s constant feeling of eyes on her back and habit of always looking over her shoulder.  Even after Snape and the Order of the Phoenix pulled her, shivering and muddy, from a flooded creek bed, she couldn't shake her nerves.  

However, A.M.'s instincts were usually correct.  No matter how unlikely it was that she had heard the Dark Lord's laugh or been watched in her bedroom, she had the suspicion that it was true. 

The common room was empty, the fire now a pile of smoldering embers, the brightest light the strikes that crashed outside the window.  Hurricanic winds drove rain against the windows in sheets, blurring the outside landscape.  "Hello?"  A.M. called, her voice echoing in the deserted space.  There was no answer and it was only until she heard the deep tones of the clock striking that she realized everyone had left for dinner.  "Well, there's no one up here, so you might as well go down to supper," she said aloud, trying desperately to break the cloying silence.  Her pulse was racing and she was having trouble drawing breath, but refused to give in to her fears.  She walked swiftly, head held high, down the hall, her footsteps deafened by the howling wind.  

            The hall was packed and noisy, the students ignoring the foreboding, swirling clouds above them, mirroring the weather kept out by the thin windows.  Hermione had once again saved a spot for A.M. and motioned for her to join the table, a brilliant smile across her usually serene face.  "Either you've won the lottery or Ron's asked you to the dance," A.M. told her friend, pleased to see her happiness.

            "Number two!" she giggled.  "You missed it!  He came over right before the food showed up and asked me in front of everyone."

            It dismayed A.M. that Ron had made such a display, probably for her benefit more than Hermione's.  However, she couldn't be more excited that he had at least moved on to his next choice.  It meant he wouldn't be flirting with her anymore and perhaps Harry would feel more inclined to ask for a date.

             "A.M.," Hermione asked, worry creeping into her voice, "are you alright?"

            "Huh, yeah, why do you ask?"

            "You're all white and shivering, that's why."

            She shrugged.  What was the point of dragging up the laugh and the terrifying darkness?  It was all in her imagination.  "I guess it's this cold air the weather is dragging in." 

            "I think you'd be used to it, what from being from Canada and all.  Isn't it terribly wretched weather over there?"

            It was all A.M. could do to stop herself from saying, "Don't know, never been."  She'd almost blown it.  "Well, it doesn't usually get so cold so early in the year, you know?"

            "Well, this is normal November weather here in England.  You might as well get used to it because it's going to keep raining for a long time to come."

            "I suppose, but I don't recall thunderstorms being a big problem, especially in such chilly conditions."

            Hermione stared into the black clouds above her head.  "I suppose that, scientifically, winter lighting is possible, but you're right: don't warm fronts usually create thunderstorms?"

            The sense of foreboding grew stronger, stiffening A.M.'s spine.  It was suddenly imperative that she be reassured.  "I heard something.  A laugh."

            "Just now?  What's the big deal then?"

            "No, earlier.  When I was upstairs in my room."  She leaned in closer to the other girl.

            "It was probably just someone down in the common room-"

            "No, the tower was empty.  Besides, it was outside."

            Hermione chuckled.  "It was just in your head: it's far too noisy outside to hear anything, let alone a little laugh."

            "No, I really did hear something.  It sounded like Volde-"  She stopped short, but it was too late.  A general lull in conversation meant most of the students around them had heard what Hermione and she had been discussing.  

They stared, slack-jawed at her for a moment, then quickly turned their fellow friends, quickly spreading the news.  "Did you hear that?  A.M. says she heard you-know-who."  More faces turned toward the girls as the rumor passed like wildfire.  Soon enough a girl A.M. didn't know tapped her on the shoulder.  "Is it true?" she asked in a thick Irish brogue.  "Did you really see you-know-who in your window?"

"No!  I just heard something and it _sounded_ sort of like Voldemort!"  At his name the crowd went silent and a Hufflepuff boy threw a wadded napkin at her.  "Seriously, I didn't _see_ anything."

            The unknown girl glared at someone across the room, but began walking back toward her table.  "You see, Sylvia, it's a bunch of rubbish.  She didn't see nothing at all."  Even so, everyone in the room, besides the teachers, seemed visibly shaken.  What happened next, though terrifying, was no surprise, especially not to A.M.

            There was the sound of the great front door slamming shut, then an ear-piercing scream.  People looked from one pair of white-rimmed eyes to the next and A.M. felt a hand on her forearm, though she did not look to identify its owner.  _'Please, let the faculty get up and make some announcement that everything's just fine.  Let them say they're expecting a hideous guest, one that would make a girl scream like that.  Don't let them sit there and give us the same blank looks,' she silently prayed.  But none of them made a move to reassure the panicked students._

            Then she heard the thick, wet, slapping sounds.  A.M. recognized them well.  When she was five her mother took her to Central Park to play at Heckscher playground.  However, after she traded her new shoes to another kid for a ham sandwich, her mother was so infuriated, she made her walk home.  Halfway there the clouds burst open, spilling driving, hard drops on them both.  Still, her mother refused to run or retreat to the subway.  As they leaned against the wind, all A.M. could hear was the rain and her socks, walked loose at the toes, slapping against the pavement.  That sick, sloppy squish was now echoing through the giant hall.

            A girl A.M. did not recognize shuffled slowly into the room, her back hunched and her arms drooping at her sides like a gorilla.  It seemed as if each step was forced by some unseen, giant hand, pushing her along.  She made her way to the front of the room, zombie-like, and A.M. finally got her first good look at the stranger.

            Her hair was wet and dirty, with bits of leaves, twigs, and other debris nesting between the ragged strands.  What once could have been blonde, beautiful locks had been destroyed and waved in tatters around her head.  Dark, muddy streaks broke up her pale skin and her blue eyes were hazy, like a dead fish's.  Her clothes were shredded and much in the same state as the rest of her, but easily showed a black stain, spread across her chest and abdomen, where it seemed to have leaked down the front of her button-down.  Her feet were bare but for a pair of socks, walked down until they looked like defective elf shoes, comically long at the toes.  

            But the stench was the most noticeable attribute.  It filled the room, settling in a cloud that gagged the terrified students.  A.M. had smelled it many, many times.  It was the stink of death, and it clung to this girl's every pore.

            Finally there was movement at the head table as McGonagall, raced to the other side, crying, "Fleur, are you all right?"  _'So this… thing is that missing Fleur Delacour girl,' A.M. inferred.  As soon as McGonagall came within a yard of the girl, Fleur simply stretched out an arm and the professor was flung effortlessly against the wall by some invisible force.  No one ran to help the teacher, who either'd been knocked unconscious, or was pretending to be so for safety's sake._

            A.M. couldn't stop her shaking as Fleur opened her mouth to speak, her voice raspy like old, dry leaves.  "Within the city of Alexandria stood one of the seven wonders of the world: a lighthouse so tall not one man could conceive it.  It stood proudly for many years, flaunting the people's arrogance.  But it was toppled by a mighty earthquake and fell into the sea.

            "Alexandria," the girl continued, "you will fall.  Return to me, beloved, before you disappear under the black sea, sinking into the dark waves; the water will fill your lungs unless you return… beloved… return… my beloved, my lovely, queen of holies… or you will be crushed… you cannot escape, you can only die…" 

            With that, she fell limply to the floor, as if de-boned.  A.M. watched in horror, her hand clapped helplessly to her mouth to keep her screams from escaping.

**Author's Note:  _I have received several reviews asking me to post more frequently.  I have considered these requests, and will try to do so: however, please be understanding of the fact that I am working on three majors and a job.  I would love to write professionally, but at the time, it's only a hobby to do  in spare time.  I'd also like to apologize for the late posting on this chapter; I have been to Florida to see one side of my family and to England to do some research on my winter holiday (of course, by research I mean sightseeing and LOTS of eating).  I'll try to be really quick with the next chapter.  Hope you enjoyed!  Don't forget to send me a review.   _**


	11. Buried Secrets Left Untold

**Chapter**[C1] ** 11:  Buried Secrets Left Untold**

            When Fleur fell, it was as if a spell had been broken.  Students were screaming and running for the exits.  One girl, who'd obviously been sick on herself, tripped on Harry's robes, but when he tried to help her up, she slapped his hand and crawled away, sobbing, on all fours.  

            With all the commotion, he was surprised he even noticed, but from the corner of his eye, he saw A.M. run, not away, but toward the front of the room.  "I can help!" she yelled, pushing frightened children to the sides of the aisles.  Harry, who wanted nothing more but escape from the stench, instead found himself following the blonde.

            She was on her knees beside Fleur by the time he got there.  "Get away from her, A.M.!" Snape shouted, pulling at her shoulder.  

            She pushed him aside.  "I can help her.  Just give me some room.  Taking a deep breath, she ripped the girl's blouse open, exposing her deflated, wrinkled chest and a gash along her breastbone that was seeping a disgusting black liquid.  The stench was positively atrocious, forcing everyone around to take a step back and A.M. to retch.  "Oh, god."

            "Is she alright?" Dumbedore asked, stepping forward only slightly.  

            A.M. shook her head.  "She's dead.  Has been for days."  

            Harry felt a shiver down his spine.  "But she just walked in here.  And talked.  I saw it myself."

            "Imperius curse," Dumbledore muttered.  "It's the only logical explanation."

            "But someone has to be alive for that to work, don't they?"  Harry could feel his throat tightening, putting him on the edge of hysterics.  What kind of powerful, dark magic would someone need to raise the dead?

            "She's badly decomposed," A.M. stated.  "Look at her coloring.  And the flesh here," she pointed to the girl's breasts, "has eroded considerably.  When a person dies, the water in their tissue evaporates.  That's why she looks so wrinkly."  She looked at the body again, gagged, but continued.  "The liquid coming out of that gash is rainwater mixed with liquefied tissue.  It takes several days for bacteria to break down a body like that.  I'd say whoever killed her did so the day she was kidnapped."  She paused.  "And her heart is missing."

            Snape stated evenly, "Obviously He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has grown even more powerful.  I know we're all saying it's not possible, but he must have found a way to use the Imperius curse on a corpse." 

            "I'm feel… ill," A.M. whispered, throwing a hand to her mouth.  

            "Mr. Potter, could you please escort Ms. Kinter to her dormitory?" Dumbledore asked.  Harry nodded and took the shaking girl by the elbow.  Anything to escape the disgusting horror in front of him.

            "Can you walk alright?"  She was weaving a bit, but managed a nod as they rounded the corner.  "What made you run up there like that?"

            "I don't know.  I didn't really plan it out.  One second all I could think is that I wanted to get away, the next I was standing by… her."  Her freckles stood out against her pale, bloodless skin.  "I know a little about medicine, so I guess I thought maybe I could help her."

            "Madame Pomfrey's a little better qualified than you, don't you think?"

            "You mean the Madame Pomfrey who was passed out in the middle of the aisle?  I know it was scary, but no one except McGonagall made a move to help that poor girl."

            "Yeah," Harry laughed sarcastically, "I can't think of a single reason for that."

            "The girl was under a curse.  She couldn't help what she was doing.  I'd hope that, were I in need of medical attention, a few scary words wouldn't keep a physician from treating me."

            "You've got nerves of steel, Doctor Kinter."

            "Oh jeez," she gasped, studying her hands.  "I've got that stuff she was leaking all over my fingers."  Harry snuck a closer look, only to see the crescents of her nails caked with black grime.  "Harry?" she clutched her stomach, doubled over, and would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't caught her in his arms.  

            "A.M., come on, just a couple more flights of stairs and you can lay down."

            "No, I'm going to be sick.  Uh, I can't get that smell out of my nose."

            "It's not that far, really-"

            "Harry, I'm going to throw up."

            He reluctantly thought of the closest bathroom.  "Follow me," he sighed, dragging her behind him.  He'd tried to avoid this particular place for the last four years, but he didn't want A.M. making a mess in the middle of the hall and embarrassing herself.  He'd never thrown up in public, or even run a fever, but he had snickered at others who had.  

            The second floor bathroom was damp and cold, just as he remembered it.  He led A.M. through the dark stone corridor to the toilets, where she immediately ran into a stall, slamming the door behind her.  Earlier Harry had been thinking of asking her to the dance and had even planned to get her alone after dinner so that he could do so, but these weren't the conditions he'd been hoping for.

            Last weekend he'd been spotted in the hall with A.M. by an anonymous Gryffindor with a big mouth, and when he returned from Kenchi's, Ron had confronted him.  "What about Cho?" he ridiculed.  

            Harry, having no other choice (except, of course, admitting that he was beginning to fancy Ron's crush and, according to the unwritten rules of male bonding, that _wasn't an option), lied.  "I was walking down the hall and was trying to ignore her, but she started blathering on and on.  I couldn't wait to get rid of her."_

            Hermione had appeared from nowhere.  "Get rid of who?"

            "Uh…"  Harry knew that Hermione and A.M. were becoming fairly close.  Anything he admitted would probably be passed on.  However, he didn't have to make the decision: it was made for him.

            "He's talking about A.M. again."

            "Harry, why can't you just put your differences aside?  She's a nice girl, you just won't give her a chance."  Hermione sighed loudly, shaking her head.  "I don't know why you're acting like this.  You're usually so rational."

            "Oh please, Hermione," Ron moaned.  "It's not like you're Mother Theresa."

            "I'm not speaking to you."

            "See?  That proves my point."  He turned to Harry.  "At least I don't have to worry about you trying to ask A.M. to the dance before I get to."

            Harry hoped that neither friend noticed his nervousness.  "Uh… have you been stressing over that?"

            "Well, no, but I heard a couple of guys talking about it- I think they were Hufflepuffs."

            "Yeah, I have to go," Harry lied, then quickly excused himself.  As he walked away Hermione pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and shoved it into Ron's hands.  It looked like a letter.  "Did write it, you wanker."

            Harry had tried to ignore that funny tickle in his stomach when he saw A.M., but after she turned down Ron, he figured the coast was clear to ask her out.  Sure, Ron would be upset for awhile, but he had Hermione and nothing was going on between him and A.M. anyway.

            "A.M., are you almost done?" Harry asked her impatiently, tapping his foot.  He saw the formidable puddles of water on the floor and knew he only had a few minutes to get them both out of there.

            "Uh, I think so."  Her voice was shaking and he heard commotion in the stall as she tried to stand.  "Do you think I could have a minute more?"

            "Well-" he was cut off by the sound of her retching and realized they'd be there for awhile longer.

            "Harry?"  he heard a sniffle.  "Is that you?"  Moaning Myrtle appeared by one of the sinks, her face blotchy from where she'd been crying.  "You _said_ you would visit."

            "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" he retorted, annoyed that he'd been unable to avoid this encounter.  

            "Yes, but it's been such a long time and no one _ever_ comes to see me.  No one cares about ugly, old Myrtle."

            He tried very hard to hide his contempt.  "Myrtle, that simply isn't true.  I'm sure lots of people care about you."

            About that time A.M. had the misfortune of coming out of the stall, wiping her mouth.  "Ugh," she grunted.  "I'm sorry, I usually don't get like that around gore, but that was just so _gross_."  

            Myrtle narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.  "Who's she?" she demanded.  "Come to visit did you?"

            "She's just a friend."

            "As if it's not enough that you ignore me for years on end, even after I helped you with the Triwizard clue, then you have to bring your girlfriend in here for an after-dinner snogging?  I've never even _had a boyfriend, but you have to come by to show off?"_

            "She's not my girlfriend."

            "Yeah, and if it makes you feel better, I've never had a boyfriend either," A.M. added in her most helpful manner.

            "_That's supposed to make me feel better?  At least __you're not dead and living in a bathroom."_

            "Um, I suppose that's true."  A.M. stood there, at a loss for words.  "Could I use one of the sinks?  My mouth tastes awful."

            "No one comes in here to see Myrtle.  All they want to do is use the toilet and wash their hands.  They just ignore me.  And at least you can taste things, even if they're gross.  You don't know what it's like being dead and never being able to eat anything.  "

            A.M. pointed out, "Yes, well, I don't think I can empathize, but I'm sorry anyway," and began splashing water on her face and neck.  

            "Who are you, anyway?  I haven't seen you in any of the bathrooms here at school."

            "Myrtle," Harry stepped in, "this is A.M. Kinter, A.M., this is Myrtle."

            "Pleasure." A.M. extended her hand to shake the other girl's.

            "You were right.  Your breath is horrid."

            "Thank you for your kind words.  I think I'll be going now."

            "Wait, that still doesn't explain why I haven't seen you in any of the toilets."

            "I have a private bathroom."

            "You're not a prefect, are you?" Myrtle asked, just as a huge boom of thunder deafened them all.

            It was A.M.'s turn to cross her arms and look offended.  "No, I'm not a reject, thank you."

            "Not _reject_, I said _prefect.  The prefects have their own bathroom too, and-"_

            "I'm not one of those either.  I just have a private privy in my room."

            "Myrtle," Harry intervened, "A.M.'s feeling a bit under the weather, so I'm going to take her back to her dorm now."

            "Yes, everyone that comes by always wants to leave so soon.  Apparently I'm so awful they can't even stand me for a full minute.  I'd ask what the point of living is, what with such a miserable existence, but I'm not.  I'm _dead_."

                "Yes, well… cheers," he replied, then quickly pushed A.M. out the door.  

            A.M. commented dryly, "Lovely girl," and stumbled down the hallway.

            "Are you alright?"

            "Yes, I just have to get my legs.  Was that an ex-girlfriend of yours?"

            "No, that's Moaning Myrtle.  She's the reason why all the teachers tell you to use the third floor bathroom instead of this one."

            "I can't think of why.  She's positively charming."

            He chuckled.  "I didn't know you were capable of such harsh words."

            "Yeah, well, losing your lunch can do that to a girl."  Pressing her forehead against the window, she exhaled loudly.  "Finally, something nice and cool.  And the rain's stopping."  Indeed, the clouds were clearing and the sun peeked over the horizon.

            "Yeah, the weather is so strange, the way it's stormy one moment, then sunny the next."  With the light shining in, Harry had the chance to admire her slender body, silhouetted by the sky.  Her arms and legs were well defined, but she still kept a slight hourglass figure.  Petite breasts balanced her small hips, creating a flowing line that drew the eye to her curvier areas.  Swallowing, he croaked, "Uh, are you ready to go back?"  _'Why, oh why, didn't I ask her to the dance just then?'_

            "Sounds good."  They began walking back silently and, when A.M. tripped slightly on the stairs, Harry told himself the hand he put around her waist was only to steady her, nothing more.  However, he didn't remove his arm after she regained her balance.  "Thanks," she said, smiling.  He just grinned back.

            In Gryffindor Tower students were huddled nervously, deep in conversation.  They turned in unison as Harry and A.M. arrived.  "Harry," Hermione asked, "do you have an atlas?"

            "No, why?"

            "I can't remember where Alexandria is."

            "The city?"

            "Yeah," she replied, "the city."

            "Uh…" he hesitated.  He thought he'd heard it was named after Alexander the Great.  "Isn't it in Italy?"

            "No, it's in Egypt," A.M. spoke up.  "It was named after Alexander the Great.  It had some huge library and a big lighthouse: the lighthouse was one of the seven ancient wonders of the world.  Scientists say it was so bright you could see it from the moon.  But then there was a big earthquake and it fell down and, well, that was the end of that."  Everyone simply stared at her.  "What?" she squeaked.

            "How'd you know all that?" Seamus Finnegan asked.

            "I read it in a book."  He continued glaring.  "You know, binded paper which contains words and sometimes pictures?"

            Seamus chewed his lip.  "I _know what a book is.  But Fleur wasn't talking about some book.  She was talking about a person.  __To a person in that room.  A person named Alexandria."  _

            "Uh, A.M.?"  Hermione fidgeted in her seat.  "We were all just wondering, what does A.M. stand for?"

            She gasped and dropped her arms to her sides.  Harry tried his best to look disinterested, though he was dying to know as well.  "So let me see here: just because I happen to have initials instead of a full name, I suddenly become public enemy number one?"

            "It was just a question," Pavarti snapped.  "Why don't you want to answer it?"

            "It's Amanda Muffy, okay?  It's about the most embarrassing, preppy name anyone could ever have, and if anyone outside of this room finds out about it, there's going to be big trouble."  She crossed her arms and turned away from the staring crowd.  "Would you like to finish your interrogation, or may I be excused from the bench?"

            "I have a few more questions," Seamus interjected.

            "Leave her alone."  Harry stepped forward, making himself a physical barrier between A.M. and her interrogators.  "She's not feeling well."  He had not planned on standing up for her, but once he took that first initial step, he realized it felt good.  He liked the idea of A.M. needing him.  While she had that act that she was all sugar and spice, she also contained an inner strength, making her impenetrable.  To defend her meant breaking down that wall and bringing him closer to what he wanted to find: the inner A.M.

            Lavender Brown cleared her throat.  "What about Fleur?"

            "What about Fleur?" he argued back.  "She's dead."  A gasp rose in the room.  "A.M. and I both saw.  She's definitely… dead."

            Parvarti stared at them both accusingly.  "I saw A.M. run up there to Fleur.  She knew Fleur was coming and wouldn't hurt her.  She was even trying to help her.  She's working for the other side!  She's that Alexandria person!"

            "Oh please."  Don't be so paranoid," Harry huffed.  "Fleur was threatening someone named Alexandria.  If that was A.M., why would she risk her life running up there?  A.M. was just trying to help, which is more than any of you did."  Hermione hung her head, embarrassed by her friend's words.

            "Here, you vultures," A.M. spat, throwing a wallet on the table.  

            Hesitantly, Geoffrey Hooper picked it up and flipped through the many ID's and pictures.  "You're a girl scout?" he scowled.

            "I like to help my community." 

            "Well, she's who she says she is."

            "I'll take that back now," she told him, grabbing the wallet from his hand.  

            "A.M.," Hermione began quietly.  "We're really very sorry for all this.  I know you were scared by what happened this evening.  It's just that, we were all frightened as well and needed to be sure that, when we go to bed tonight, we'll all be safe."

            "Well I assure you, I won't be coming to any of your bedsides this evening."  She started to walk away and Harry felt a slight tug on his arm.  Though he didn't remember doing so, A.M.'s hand was clasped tightly in his own, leaving him no choice but to follow her.

            "Are you going to be all right?" he asked her as they reached the more secluded end of the room. 

            "I'll be fine.  I'm just surprised that trying to do the right thing and help people is a social faux pas here at Hogwart's."

            Harry chuckled, but covered his mouth to hide it.  "I was actually referring to your stomach.  You know, after earlier-"

            "Well, I can't really safeguard against communication lapses," she shrugged.  "I am feeling quite a bit better, but I'm looking forward to crashing in bed tonight."

            As she began up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, Harry found himself unwilling to release her hand.  Something had changed, he could feel it.  He was completely smitten with A.M., so much he hadn't even thought to look for Gretta since he'd last seen her.  While there was something secretive about A.M., he was willing to let down his barriers and wait for her to explain herself when she was ready.

            "Harry, can I please have my hand back?" she asked, smiling wearily.  Despite her puffy eyes and obvious tiredness, she was absolutely beautiful.  

            "Oh, certainly.  Sorry about that."  As he began to let go, he caught sight of her palm- more specifically, the smooth, white scar that stretched diagonally across it.  "What did you do?" he frowned.  "Did you… do this to yourself?"

            "To myself?!  No!  I fell on the playground when I was little.  That's a very old scar."

            "A.M.., this cut is perfectly straight.  It looks like your hand was purposely sliced.  Did- did you do this?"

            She yanked back her hand.  "I didn't do it.  I fell on the playground and cut myself on a piece of glass, okay?"

            "Promise?"

            Rolling her eyes, she laughed, "Yes, I promise I'm not sitting in my room, playing with knives."  Her face grew serious.  "Harry, thank you for standing up for me back there.  I appreciate that."

            He shrugged.  "I was just returning the favor."

            "Well… goodnight."  She hovered at the foot of the stairs, hesitating.  

            It was the perfect moment to invite A.M. to the dance.  But he stopped.  Things were moving too quickly, leaving Harry's head spinning.  He needed some time to think it over.  "Goodnight," he murmured, more to himself than A.M., watching her step quietly upstairs. 

            Harry started to his dormitory when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  "Hermione?" he asked, turning to face his frizzy-haired friend.

            "Does Ron know?" she whispered, leading him back to the couch.  

            "Know what?"

            She let out a bitter chuckle.  "Apparently not.  Harry, why are we all playing these games?  Here I am, pretending I don't know that Ron asked A.M. to the dance before he asked me so that Ron doesn't feel guilty, while A.M. is pretending that he never asked her so as not to upset me.  And you're acting like you don't fancy A.M. so Ron doesn't get angry, but really you're only fooling yourself.  It's just a big, stupid game."

            Harry muttered, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave," and looked around the common room.  Apparently everyone had been waiting for A.M.'s ominous arrival, because they had all returned to their rooms to gossip nervously about that night's event.

            "The question is, why do we all do it?  Everyone's covering up Ron's actions for my benefit, but the truth is, I know.  Even you, Harry, my best friend, are playing along."

            "Well, he asked me not to say anything-"

            She shushed him.  "It's all right, I understand.  Sure, it rather hurts that I'm only second best, but I can't change that.  I'm much better knowing and accepting that than being kept in the dark."

            Harry rested his temple on his hand.  "Is this your way of saying I should come clean with Ron?"

            "No, this is my warning that it's a lot easier to accept the truth from your mouth than overhearing it from someone else."

            "How about the idea of him never finding out?" Harry suggested hopefully.

            "Ron isn't totally clueless.  If you walk around, holding A.M.'s hand like you were earlier, he's eventually going to figure out there's something going on between the two of you."

            Something sparked in Harry's brain.  He'd been so immersed with his newfound crush, he hadn't even stopped to consider A.M.'s feelings.  Sure, she seemed to like him at the beginning of the school year, but that was months ago.  He'd spent all that time trying to convince both her and himself that he wasn't interested- the opposite, in fact.  Just the other week she'd said she'd fancied another boy for years.  What if she was waiting for whoever that guy was?  Harry, considering his short relationship with A.M., knew he had some competition in this secret lover.  "The two of us?  Is there something between the two of us?"

            "You mean, does she fancy you?"  A glimmer in Hermione's eye betrayed the fact that she was enjoying the power she yielded.  She was the most trusted confidant of Harry's crush.  If anyone knew whom A.M. liked, it was Hermione.

            "Well, yeah.  Do you know?"

            "Of course I know.  But I've been sworn to utmost secrecy."

            "But Hermione, we're friends.  Friends don't keep secrets."

            Her eyebrow arched.  "Oh really?  Is that why you came running up to me, screaming, 'By the way, Ron asked A.M. to the dance before he asked you!'?" 

            Squirming, he replied, "Okay, point taken.  But even so, this is more important than keeping a secret."

            "Prove it."

            "What, you want me to plead my case here?  Do you need physical evidence?"

            "I have all the _physical_ evidence I want.  This is easy, Harry.  I know you can figure out her feelings on your own, instead of trying to change the subject."

            "What subject is that?" Harry asked, annoyed that Hermione expected him, as a man, to perceive a single thought ever born of a woman's mind.

            "Ron.  How he's going to take all this."

            He looked her in the eye.  "And how will that be?"

            She returned his stare.  "Consider how he reacted when he thought you put your name in the goblet of fire.  I just hope he wasn't overly serious about A.M."  Harry tried to ignore the memory of finding A.M.'s name written over and over on parchment hidden in Ron's sock drawer, the page covered in grungy kiss marks.  "Seriously, Harry, just let him know.  He may be upset for awhile, but things will only go better if you're honest."

            "Okay, I'll talk to him ASAP," he told her, having no intention whatsoever of doing so.  Some things friendships couldn't suffer.  Perhaps A.M. would be willing to be discreet…

***

            It was mere coincidence that A.M. was absent the very day Harry had finally gathered the courage to ask her out.  The students were allowed to visit Hogsmeade (Strangely it was the first visit of the year, and Harry had the feeling that they were only granted permission to go because of the close proximity to Christmas.), so Harry decided to catch A.M. as she came down the stairs.  However, as he waited at the foot of the dormitory entrance, he saw only five sixth years (two of which were scantily clad in miniskirts, allowing quite a view for those sitting at the bottom of the steps).  Hermione, shirking her usual punctuality, was last to arrive.  "Harry, you're not waiting for me, are you?"

            "Uh…"  This was the sort of situation for a white lie, right?  "You're _one of the people I'm waiting for."_

            She raised an eyebrow.  It was obvious he hadn't been convincing.  "Well, I'm the last one down, so I don't know who you're waiting on."

            "You mean, there's no one in your room?"

            "No, it's empty."

            "So… where's A.M.?"

            Hermione laughed.  "Is that who this is all about?  A.M. has her own room.  According to Parvarti, it's disgustingly plush, but you know how she over-exaggerates.  Anyway, do you want me to go get her?"

            "Are you busy?"

            "No it'll only take me a second," she clomped back up the stairs and, despite her promise, returned far quicker than he expected.  "She's sick," was the announcement.  

            At first it didn't register.  "What do you mean?"

            "How many definitions do you need for sick?  She's unwell and isn't coming to Hogsmeade."

            Harry remembered a time that, in exchange for not talking for a week, the Dursleys promised to take him to the park.  He kept his end of the bargain, but when the Dursleys pulled up to the playground, bulldozers were in the process of demolishing it.  Harry had been so anxious, but could only feel as if his own excitement was flattened under the giant, yellow CAT.  His disappointment over his unintentionally cancelled date was the playground all over again.  "Did you see her?  Is she all right?"

            "We just talked through the door.  Can we get going?"  Harry reluctantly followed.  The rain had finally condensed into snow, freezing the mud the Great Lawn had become in November and covering the brown mess with a cleansing layer of white.

            Hogsmeade was much of the same; while Harry selected a few presents for his friends and favorite teachers, he felt no desire to browse in all the old stores.  Much to his distaste, after comparing his purchases, he found that A.M.'s gift, an elegant, leather-bound how-to on bettering one's wand work, cost nearly twice as much as any other.  To relieve his guilt over the neglect of his other friends, he bought them all slabs of Honeyduke's finest chocolate.  

            Despite Hermione's warnings, Harry had no desire to tell Ron his true feelings for A.M.  Like all adolescents, he had the fondest hope that, by ignoring the situation, it would disappear.  However, while sitting round the Three Broomsticks, sipping butterbeers, he received enough kicks under the table to convince him to fess up.  His shins couldn't withstand anymore of Hermione's hard-toed jabs. 

            "I'm getting to it," he hissed at her when Ron left for the restroom.  

            "Well, get to it faster.  Someone's bound to tell him what's going on."

            "Who really knows that I like A.M.?  I mean, we haven't done anything terribly revealing.  No one knows I'm going to ask her to the dance."  A sharp jolt to his chair startled him from the conversation.

            "Terrible sorry," Draco said, patting Harry's shoulder.  "It's quite crowded in here.  I didn't mean to bump you."  When he received no response from the seated friends, he shrugged and moved on.  Harry and Hermione stared at each other in shock, unable to believe what had just happened.

            "Let me get this straight," Harry finally stammered.  "Did Malfoy just show another human being a little grace and civility?"

            "Up is down, black is white, made is unmade…"

            "Why do you guys look like you just saw Hagrid lay an egg?" Ron asked, returning from the toilets.  

            "Draco Malfoy just said a kind word to another person."

            Ron gagged on his butterbeer.  "Well then," he finally gasped, "That's a bit stranger than Hagrid laying an egg, isn't it?"

***

            Despite promises through the door that she would be back, Ron declared "that bitch," missing from History class that Monday.  

            "Really Ron," Hermione had chastised at lunch, "nothing she could have done merits your foul language."  Strangely, he actually listened to the frizzy-haired girl, ending the conversation immediately.  This action alone convinced Harry that, not only had Ron's attraction switched completely to his best friend, Hermione made a far better influence on him than A.M. ever could.  A.M. needed someone more… independent.  Kind of like Harry.  Hermione was more domineering, but also had an infinite urge to nurture.  A.M. struck him as someone who needed her space, but, when things got really rough, could use support and safety (certainly not words easily applied to Ron).

            Harry was quite worried about A.M. and her apparently failing health, but of course could not visit her because of the ward on the girls' dormitory.  Certainly she was bored and could use some company, but  she had denied Hermione entrance when she'd checked up on her that morning.  He'd already decided that, the moment she finally came down those stairs, he'd ask her to the dance.  He wasn't taking any more chances.

            After lunch he headed to Transfigurations, stopping only to tell Peeves to "shove off," (The poltergeist had picked up a first year by the seat of his trousers and was now waving him around wildly like a centrifuge.).  McGonagall's N.E.W.T. class was particularly noisy that day: they were all to be tested for Animagus.

            After the mishap that fateful night during third year, all the wizarding schools were asked to create a test administered to sixth years.  If a student had the capability to transform, the ministry would be well aware and watching.  Many liberal wizards felt this was an invasion of privacy and had protested such a test, but fear and outrage at Sirius' escape easily pushed the test into the academies.

            Many students were afraid: after all, while being Animagus was neat, it meant being watched very closely by the government, perhaps for the rest of their lives.  Already McGonagall had professed her distaste at the extra attention she was receiving.  However, most students were intrigued to see just what kind of animal they would (if possible) become.  

            Harry went to take his usual seat, but found it taken by a platinum blonde.  "Excuse me," he muttered, tapping the figure on the shoulder.  

            The boy turned, revealing Draco's evil smirk.  "Well, hello Potter.  I was just talking to your dear friend, Weasley."

            "Oh really?" he replied coldly.  "And just what the hell would you two have enough in common to talk about?  I would think the difference in species would create a slight problem in conversation."

            "Quite funny, Mr. Potter.  Actually, we were just discussing your… particular relationship with A.M. Kinter."

            He looked at Ron's face.  He'd never seen so much hope in one person's eyes.  "It's not true is it?  You're not taking her to the dance, right?"

            Harry felt his stomach dropped.  "Why did you do that?" he asked Malfoy, ignoring his friend's questions.

            "I just thought, as your best friend, Weasley had the right to know about your little conversation at the Three Broomsticks.  And about how all the Gryffindors saw you holding hands with a certain someone."

            "But it's not true, right Harry?"  Ron pleaded.

            "Why did you do that?" he inquired again.

            "And that the reason A.M. turned him down for the dance is because you two are going together.  Not very friendly, now is it?"

            "That's not true, you bastard, and you know it.  She's not going with anyone to the dance."

            Malfoy stood and whispered in Harry's ear.  "Not now, but soon."

            "Harry, were you trying to get together with A.M.?" Ron finally confronted.  

            "Ron…I…I didn't want to like her, I promise."

            "But everything he said is true?"

            "No, not everything."  He again turned to Malfoy.  One conflict at a time.  "You piece of shit.  Why the hell would you lie to him like that?"

            "Oh, is the great Harry Potter a bit upset now?  Maybe someone should have been man enough to tell his friend personally.  Fuck off."

            Professor McGonagall, who'd just walked in, growled.  "I will have none of that talk in my classroom.  Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, out in the hallway at once."

            "With pleasure, Ms. McGonagall," he smiled cockily, then pushed Harry back into a table.  "I'd be glad to take this one outside."

            "Oh really?  No magic?  Just you and me?"

            "You've got it."

            "Boys," McGonagall warned, panicking at the loss of control of the situation, "Behave yourselves."  Both ignored her, heading straight for the door.                                           

            Harry, his vision streaked with angry red, walked backward into the hall, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he went.  "Malfoy, you've had this coming for a long time."

            The blonde followed him, slamming the door shut behind him.  The crash echoed down the hall and soon heads were peeking out of other classrooms.  "I'm gonna kick your ass, Potter."

            "Yeah, I'd like to see you try," he taunted, taking a swing.  While he felt Draco's jaw beneath his fist, there was no solid connection.  The other boy returned with a sock to the gut, knocking the breath from Harry's chest.  Coughing, he swiped again with a left hook, but missed.

            Harry grabbed for the wall, clinging to any physical support he could find.  "One second," he gasped, holding up his hand.  

            Draco conceded.  "Oh, certainly, certainly," then caught him in the jaw with an upper cut.  "Give up?"

            Harry felt blood rushing down his chin, but refused to wipe it away.  He swung his leg around, catching Malfoy's ankles and knocked him to the ground.  Climbing on top of his chest, pinning him down, he began pummeling the boy's perfect features.  "I don't give up, do you?"  He shot through clenched teeth, not even noticing the teachers rushing toward the scuffle.

            Draco's face was a bloody mess, but he managed to pull a dirty trick and catch Harry in the groin with a sharp knee.  Whimpering, he fell next to blonde and rolled back and forth, writhing in pain.  "Dirty cheat," he moaned.

            "You should be ashamed of yourselves," McGonagall chastised, leaning over the two fallen figures.  "I haven't seen anyone act so childish in years."  She pulled them both up by their robe collars.  "Mr. Malfoy, go clean yourself up and meet me at Dumbledore's office.  Mr. Potter, I want to speak to you personally before the Headmaster decides your punishment."  

            She banished her own students back to the classroom and pulled Harry to the side of the crowd.  "What were you thinking?!"

            "I wasn't."

            "I understand you are having some personal difficulties, Mr. Potter, but the Ministry is not going to look kindly on offenses like this when choosing graduates for Auror training."  She looked down her severe nose, frowning.  "It was quite difficult to convince Snape to let you take his N.E.W.T. class, and I would think you would try to show your gratitude in your behavior, since you haven't chosen to do so verbally."

            Guilt attacked him from all sides.  "I'm sorry, Ms. McGonagall, I should have thanked you earlier for your efforts.  I really do appreciate what you did for me.  And I'll try really hard not to let Malfoy get to me like that again."

            She nodded, showing only the hint of a smile.  "Alright, Mr. Potter, you're excused.  Go wash your face and come to Dumbledore's office."  She paused.  "I'll be sure to alert him of the fact that you were not the one who started this nonsense."

            Limping, he made his way down the hall; a few students, not quite ready to return to the rigors of class, followed quietly behind.  His remorse for his actions had quickly overtaken his anger, leaving him only with the immense pain centered in his lower abdomen.  However, it all disappeared when, in the bathroom corridor, he found a crumpled figure.

            A.M., her hair fanned messily across her face, was sprawled in front of the boys' toilet.  He could hear her whimpering from across the room.  "A.M.?" he asked, not sure whether he would get a response.  

            Her voice, forced past an immense block of pain, was raspy.  "Harry…Harry, please help me."

            "Oh god, A.M., just tell me what happened!"  He was by her side in a second, pull her hair from her tear-streaked cheeks.  "Did someone do something to you?"

            She shook her head.  "It hurts.  It hurts so much."

            "A.M., please, tell me what happened."  He realized how loud he was and felt no surprise at the crowd he saw forming behind him.  "Someone go get Madame Pomfrey," he instructed, then turned back to the fallen blonde.

            "Harry, you have to help me."  Her words were choked between her hiccupping sobs.  "Please, help me."

            "Okay, okay… let's get you to the nurse's office.  Is that all right?" She nodded.  "Just give me your arms, put them around my neck."  

            She willingly gave him her right hand, but when he reached for the left, she yanked away.  "It burns," she moaned, shaking her head.  

            "It's all right, once we get to Madame Pomfrey's you'll feel much better."

            "Nothing can make it go away."

            Harry grew frustrated.  How could he help if she wouldn't let him?  "A.M., just put your arm around my neck," he told her, pulling on her wrist.  As he stood up, her sleeve slid down, exposing an ebony mark, taking up the entirety of her forearm.  "You never told me you had a tattoo," he chatted, hoping small talk would distract her.

            It wasn't until he heard her cry as she hit the floor that he realized he had dropped her.  He looked down, trying to confirm what he thought he'd just seen.  She'd pulled her arm to her face, shielding her eyes from him, but what she truly wanted to hide was clearly visible.  The dark mark, its skeletal grin leering in a perverse chiaroscuro cameo, was emblazoned deeply into A.M.'s skin.

* * *

[C1]Chapter 11


	12. Aftershocks

**Chapter 12:  Aftershocks**       

 "Harry…please…" A.M. whispered, dragging herself toward him, her jerky crawling that of wounded prey.  "Can't you just take away the pain?"

            He found himself horrified and disgusted by the animalistic heap in front of him.  She- no, _it_ was a spy, a traitor.  _'To think I saw something in her.'_  She wrapped her hand around his ankle, but he hastily kicked it away.

            Turning, he pushed his way through the confused onlookers.  Wasn't he Harry Potter, protector of good, guardian of pretty, wounded girls blocking the entrances to lavatories?  Then the gasp went up- a single, collective breath, proving that what he had seen was real.

            He barely registered the flurry of faculty running past him.  Snape, unsurprisingly, was the first to barrel him over, panting, "No, why couldn't she just stay in her room?!"

            Alone, staying a brisk pace, was Madame Pomfrey, leaving only the slow shuffling of Dumbledore, McGonagall at his side.  "There's nothing to be done now," he was telling the other teacher.

            "Oh Albus, surely we can make some sort of announcement- give some explanation-"

            "Minerva, we can't undue this.  We can only start damage control.  I expect quite a few howlers from angry parents."

            "But that poor girl.  How will she deal with the other students?  Certainly they will ostracize her."

            "Then I suppose it's time for Ms. Kinter to learn a new set of social skills.  There's nothing we can do."  The conversation continued in this same vein, but Harry had to strain to hear.

            He felt the sudden need to run, to escape what he had just seen, and did not stop until he reached the portrait of the fat lady.  Inside his bedroom, he slammed the door and locked it with every charm and ward he knew.  Woe to the boy who tried to get through there.

            One word entirely encompassed his every thought and emotion: betrayal.  He'd put himself on the line for A.M., standing up for her to Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors.  He'd opened up to her in a way he'd never done with a girl (with Hermione as an exception, of course).  He'd allowed himself to become attached, but like all the people he loved, she had turned black and sour, died in his arms.

            His hands burned and itched where he'd touched her, but he knew it was just his imagination, like when one's skin crawled at the mention of spiders.  It was so unfair, though.  Why had A.M. tricked him?  Was she a spy for Voldemort?  What else could she be?  _'But Dumbledore and McGonagall knew about her,'_ he pondered.  _'So did Snape and Madame Pomfrey.  Why would Dumbledore let a Death Eater come through those front doors?'_

Despite several silencing charms, Harry heard a tinny knock echo through the room.  A few waves of his wand removed the spells, spilling Ron onto the floor by the door.  "Next time, warn me when you remove all the wards.  I was pushing from the outside."

            "Sorry."

            "I heard what happened."

            "Yeah," Harry murmured, not to anyone in particular.  He lay on his bed, arms under his head, feeling no need to actually look at his friend.

            "There's a good side to this."

            "What?"

            "I won't have to kick your ass for trying to steal my girl."  Managing a smile, Harry gave thumbs up.  He didn't have the energy to fake a chuckle.  "Did she try to kill you?"

            "No," he replied, suddenly immersed in the memory of A.M.'s fresh tears, her arms reaching out to him, her voice begging.  "She asked me to help her.  She wanted me to help her."  The split second of sympathy evoked was smashed in a wave of anger.  "She betrayed us all, then asked for my help, so she could continue to betray us."

            "What are dames for, mate?"  Ron seemed awfully cocky for a boy who, only days ago, was lusting after the same girl.

            "Yeah," Harry murmured.  "What are dames for?"

***

            The next day Harry became fully aware of the repercussions, both good and bad, of his actions yesterday.  The fellow students felt he was a hero, the only one capable of ousting a spy.  The teachers, on the other hand, were extremely distant, even spiteful toward him.  After several attempts, he gave up trying to talk to Hagrid, who, whenever Harry approached the great table, was always able to engross himself in one conversation or another.  McGonagall refused to even meet Harry's gaze.

            The Gryffindor table itself was far more crowded than any day before, not from extra breakfasters, but from an old school game.  Much in the style of cooties, the other students gave A.M. full room (almost a third of the bench), choosing instead to practically sit on one another's laps.  Needless to say, no one was comfortable: A.M. mentally, the rest physically.

            Harry watched the happenings with great content, but stared on, horrified, as Hermione passed the other Gryffindor students and headed to A.M.'s end of the table.  How could she be such a traitor?  However, Ron saw her too and yelled, "Hermione, down here!  I saved you a seat!"

            Harry's friend looked annoyed, but abandoned her plans and took the cramped spot next to Ron.  "You can't do this to her forever.  I'll sit with you today, but I'm going to talk to A.M. tomorrow."

            "Please Hermione," Ron begged, "you're committing suicide.  She's a _Death Eater._"

            "Oh really?  That wasn't much a deterrent when you two were scratching at her door."  She stared at the blonde.  "Besides, I think there's more to this.  Someone should _at least_ discuss this with her before casting judgment."

            Ron, eager to change the subject, brought up the only topic that could possibly sway Hermione's attention.  "So," he asked coyly, "on another note, what are you wearing to the dance?"

***      

            The greatest consequence of all came after breakfast.  After A.M.'s intervention, Snape had treated Harry with civility (obviously a great strain on his psyche), if not kindness.  However, A.M. must have told her professor that Harry had dropped her and run, for Snape was particularly nasty.  "Today we will be making a healing potion," he informed the class, "a blood coagulating charm, to be exact."  He looked around the room, a cruel smile caressing his thin lips.  'And one of you lucky students, chosen at random," he chuckled, "will be our guinea pig."  All eyes were on Harry.  It was quite obvious who the random student would be.

            "Now, if the potion is made correctly, it will scab over even the largest of cuts.  St. Mungo's often uses it to heal incisions after major surgery.  In our situation, unless our student has an open wound, there won't be much indication of a working potion.  However, there will be an excellent indication of a faulty potion."  He paused for effect.  "The subject's veins will dissolve, killing them instantly."

            A few students giggled nervously, but the professor continued.  "I'll draw a name out of this hat," he explained, rummaging through a cap on his desk.  "Well, what do you know?  Harry Potter."

            "Hermione, we better get this one right," Harry whispered.

            "Mr. Potter, five points from Gryffindor for talking in class and, if you're going to warn your partner, you might as well warn everyone.  You'll be trying _all _the potions."

            Hermione finally stood up, her back arched, her eyes narrowed in disbelief.  "You can't make us do this.  We'd get in trouble with the ministry if something happened to Harry."

            "Ten points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn.  However, you are correct, Ms. Granger.  The ministry would be quite upset about a murder, but unintentional manslaughter is merely a court date and an apology to the deceased's parents.  Well, in this case, just a court date."  Harry turned red, his breath coming in short gasps.  "Of course, if one were to purposely mess up their potion for any reason whatsoever, they run the risk of a first-degree murder charge, but it would be almost impossible to prove intent or action.  Now, shall we begin?

            As Harry and Hermione set to work, Harry felt his entire body break into a sweat.  However, looking around, he noted even the most despised Slytherin measuring and stirring more carefully than he'd ever seen.  Despite Snape's assurances, no one wanted to sit before the Ministry and try to plead innocence.  Azkaban was enough to put fear in the heart of the most moral man alive.

            Explosions and Neville's cries of distress quickened Harry's heart until he felt his temples might burst.  Counting partners, he saw he'd have to drink 12- no, 13 concoctions.  He'd be lucky, with the difficulty of the recipe, to even survive four.  He realized, more than any other time he'd been in danger, that he might well lose his life that day.

            However, once all the potions were made and poured into chalices, each had the same sickly orange color of a rotten peach.  Either they'd all gotten it wrong, or, hopefully, they'd all done it right, a first for this potions class.  Suddenly, he realized there were only 12 potions.  Who wasn't done?

            A snicker from behind grabbed his attention just in time to let him see A.M.'s and Malfoy's potion, the perfect shade, turn midnight-blue as Malfoy poured in the whole jar of earwigs.  A.M., shrugging, filled her chalice and took it to the front of the class, where she placed it at the end of the line.

            Snape, observing all this, raised an eyebrow in A.M.'s direction, as if asking, "Are you sure you want to do this?"  She simply turned and went back to her cauldron.

            "Mr. Potter, are you ready?"  It didn't matter whether he was or not.  Snape simply asked for dramatic effect.  Harry, considerably foolhardy, walked up stiffly and downed the first potion in one gulp.  It would have been pointless to go get Dumbledore.  After yesterday's events, no teacher would help him.  

            "And the next," Snape goaded.  Again he drank the orange mixture.  It was a vile potion, one that burned the roof of his mouth and brought tears to his eyes.  "And the next."  He continued until only the blue concoction remained.  

            "And the next."  Harry slowly picked up the chalice and closed his eyes, not wanting to accept his death, but too prideful to turn down Snape's challenge.  Just as the cup touched his parched lips, he felt it snatched from his hand.  Blinking, he saw A.M. in front of him, raising the glass to her own mouth.

            "Miss Kinter, please return the potion to Mr. Potter and take your seat."  The professor's voice was steady, but his demeanor proved otherwise.  He eyed the girl nervously, as if she might just be crazy enough to take from the cup.

            "I find it quite unfair that Mr. Potter gets to test my work, but I don't get a chance to try it."  She stared back at Snape boldly, a bald challenge.

            "Miss Kinter, _please _put the potion down and-"

            "But Professor Snape, why is he allowed to drink it and I'm not?  If you thought the potion was made incorrectly, certainly you wouldn't let either of us, or anyone, for that matter, to take it, right?"

            It was a battle of wills.  Snape wanted desperately to punish Harry for abandoning his favorite student in her time of need.  But now that A.M. had become the antagonist, what decision would he make?  "All right," he finally growled, "class is dismissed early today."

            As the other students filed out, Harry returned to his desk, relieved at the outcome of the previous events.  One usually feels some sort of elation when death, sitting behind him on his haunches, finally stalks away.  He grabbed his books, but did so slowly, as to hear the conversation between A.M. and Snape.  He hoped the teacher would crucify her.  One good deed did not correct every bad one she surely had committed as a Death Eater.

             "My dear, please leave the punishment of my students up to me next time," he smoothly chastised, obviously suppressing a hot frustration. 

            "Killing isn't a punishment.  It's a vengeful act, pure and simple.  Harry's done nothing wrong to you."  Harry couldn't believe the charade she was putting on.  Would a Death Eater stop at nothing to save herself?

            Harry dropped his quill, snapping the two conversationalists to attention.  "Mr. Potter, remove yourself from this room at once," Snape ordered.

            "Yes sir," he replied, but, after a few seconds, settled back in.  The professor, apparently unaware, returned to the topic at hand.

            "Don't you know who found you?  Who left you to the mercy of the masses?  Don't you-"

            "Don't you think we've seen our share of killing, Severus?!  That there's enough blood on our hands?!"  

            "Potter, did I not tell you to get the hell out of here?!"

            "Yes sir, yes sir," Harry stammered, lunging for the door before things got even more heated.  He'd heard all the evidence he needed.

            Right behind him the potions classroom door slammed.  A.M. was there, books in hand, chest heaving.  Snape did not follow.  "Harry, we _have _to talk!"  

            He looked the killer in the eyes.  "I really don't want to discuss this right now-" 

            She fought to catch her breath.  "It's not about yesterday, I swear.  I understand what you did.  I wouldn't have done the same thing, but… well, I understand.  This is about a promise I made to myself."  She reached in her robe's pocket and, when she pulled out her hand, a teardrop aquamarine dangled from her fingers.  He'd seen it before, but only hanging around her neck.

            "I was worried you wouldn't take this seriously, so I wanted to give you this-" she pressed the necklace into his palm, "to prove the worth of my words."  She locked his stare with her own cornflower gaze and, despite his anger, he felt his stomach flip-flop.  "This is a necklace my mother wore many years ago.  It…means a lot to me.  She always said that it brought her good luck, but it doesn't seem to be working for me.  Hopefully it will do better by you."

            She paused, trying to get her mind around her words.  "I really like you, Harry, and I have since I met you.  I realize that you haven't seen the best side of me, and I don't think what I know of you is the best side of you.  I hope that you'll give me a chance to prove to you who I really am."

            Clasping his knuckles, she worked hard to keep her mouth from wavering.  He watched with a certain fascination as she struggled to control her quivering lips.  However, her nervousness was betrayed in the trembling hand closed about his own.  "Harry, will you go to the dance with me?"

            His mind blanked.  "Dance?"

            "The promenade.  Next month."  

            He laughed.  Was she serious?  "Um, no, A.M.  I'm not going to go to the promenade with you."  He laughed once more, then tried to put on a straight face.

            A.M. hung her head, pulling her hand back as if she'd been burned.  "I understand.  This was a moot point.  Like I said, I just had to fulfill a promise."

             Rubbing the back of his head, Harry took a step toward the door.  "Are you done?" he asked, feeling no need to show manners to a Death Eater.

             "Yeah, you can run onto lunch.  Though I don't know how you can eat anything after drinking all those potions."

             He merely walked away, refusing to dignify her small talk with a response.  How could she?  How _dare_ she?  Had she not realized the game was up?  A spy discovered is a spy no more.  

            As he briskly strode to lunch, two thoughts played themselves repeatedly in his mind.  The first was understandable: "Screw the bitch."  The other came from nowhere and pestered him mercilessly:  "How can I ever forget A.M.?  Why, if she's the enemy, do I feel like I'm making the biggest mistake of my life?" 


	13. Revelations

**Chapter 13:  Revelations **

**Author's Note:  **_Congratulate me: in this chapter, I break 200 pages (Harry Potter hardback size, not Microsoft Word size).  For me, that's a pretty big accomplishment.  I also want to thank my readers because you too have read and reviewed through 213 pages.  I hope you keep up the great work!  Oh, and I just wanted to insert a quick apology to my fanfiction.net readers; I was trying to fix some grammatical errors in my story, but I ended up reposting Chapter 12 and getting everyone's hopes up.  Sorry about that.  Enjoy the new chapter and, with school out, hopefully I'll be posting more promptly._           

            _'How stupid am I?'  _The thought rotated slowly in A.M.'s brain, poisoning her every thought and whim.  She'd known better than to ask Harry out, but she'd promised to try one more time.  She'd assumed, in her romance-movie-warped mind after two years of wishing and hoping, that fate would grant her the relief she so desired.  But it seemed the powers up had a disturbed sense of humor. 

            She'd really messed up yesterday and she knew it.  Groggy with pain that had started late Saturday afternoon, she'd tried to make her way to Madame Pomfrey's, but apparently had fallen short of her goal.  Only vague, shadowy wisps remained of her encounter with Harry.  She could only remember Severus' disappointment and fear, so thick it was tangible, as he picked her up and carried her to the infirmary.

            If only Harry hadn't come along… A rush of anger flushed A.M's face, but she quickly stifled it.  She could not blame Harry for his actions.  After all of his experiences with other Death Eaters, it was a small wonder that she was still alive.

            Yet he'd taken the necklace.  What did that mean?  She recalled sifting through her meager belongings, then choosing the most expensive item as a gift.  Sure, it was a woman's necklace, but it truly was the only thing she had.  Now, she still didn't have a date for the promenade _and _she no longer had her last keepsake from New York.  She felt empty without the teardrop around her slender neck.

            Lunch had been another exercise in solitary confinement.  A.M. tried to pretend it didn't bother her, but she was already tired of being on the outside, looking in.  She'd known the risk of coming to Hogwarts; Severus had told her many times.  Still, she hadn't thought she'd be exposed so soon, by the last person she wanted to know her secret, and that the other students would react so severely.  Earlier, she'd washed her hands in the mirrorless lavatory on the third floor, then watched in shock as the girl next in line threw away the hand towel, muttering something about "tainted."

            Still, without a time machine, there was nothing A.M. could do to change the past.  Dumbledore simply warned her to behave herself, and perhaps the other students would warm back up to her, but she doubted that he was right.  While the headmaster had kept the event from the press, no rule kept students from writing their parents about A.M.'s incident.  It was only a matter of time until the situation graced the front pages of the Daily Prophet.  After that, no parents would allow their children to befriend her.

            "A.M.?"  It was more of a question than an address, pulling her from her tumultuous inner thoughts.  She looked up to see the one person she didn't want to: Draco Malfoy in the doorway of the classroom in which she hid.  "Snape said I might find you here."

            "Sellout," she muttered, cursing the Potions teacher.  Her eyes darted from left to right, desperate to escape.  "It's funny that you should come along, Draco, as I was just about to leave."

            "No you're not."  He glided across the room, his movements snakish and slithery, brushing his fingers lightly over the desktops as he passed.  "Your DA class is over and dinner isn't for another hour.  What are you doing in here, all by your lonesome?"  Something dangerous glinted across his face, putting A.M. on guard.

            "Trying to spend some time by myself," she replied.  "Apparently I failed."  She fought to hide her nervousness, but the look in his eyes, of competition and dominance set her heart thumping.  She was not the first girl he had hunted, she was sure. 

            "Don't you have a promise to fulfill?"  He raked his gaze across her chest, then returned to her face with a devilish grin, leaving A.M. violated.

            "I'm sorry, I haven't a clue as to what you're talking about.  I'll be going now-"

            Throwing his arm out, he stopped her escape and pulled her toward him.  A.M. considered giving him a round house kick to the chin, but realized that would simply be an angry parent's excuse to have her expelled, something she refused to give to anyone.  "You said that, if no other boy would take you, you'd be going to the dance with me." 

            She laughed, her giggle strained in her tight throat.  "Surely you know I said that in jest, Malfoy."

            "Then you should have watched your words."

            "Besides, I haven't been turned down by every other boy."

            It was his turn to cackle.  "Do you think, after yesterday, that any boy here would want to take you?"  Would be brave enough to take you?!  I'm afraid the only guy here with the guts to even come near you," he reached up and brushed his fingers across her neck, making her jump back, "is little, old me."  He smiled at her obvious discomfort.

            "No, Draco, bet's off."  Deciding _'screw it,'_ A.M.'s pivoted back to put weight behind her kick, but Draco flicked his wand, turning the air around her into molasses.  She fought to move, but the malicious blonde easily grabbed her wrist, trapping her before he removed the spell.

            "I think you should know, Voldemort would find it quite interesting that you're here."

            Her heartbeat, which had been keeping the pace of a hummingbird, suddenly stopped.  "I…don't know what you're talking about."

            "Sure you do, sweetheart," he goaded, pulling up his left sleeve.  The Dark Mark grinned back at her evilly.  "Now, I wonder where you got that one on your arm?"

            "I…I…"  Not a single coherent thought passed through her mind.

            "Because, as far as I know, I'm the second youngest Death Eater."  He looked at her expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer he would not receive.

            He pulled A.M. against his chest and she went bonelessly, too terrified to will movement to her body.  Gently tugging her hair from her ear, she felt his hand on her neck.  If he wanted to, he could snap her spine before she'd even be able to raise her hands in defense.  "Before you leave and turn me down for the dance," Draco whispered, "I have one more question."  His grip tightened on the back of her throat, pushing a moan past her lips.  "How much is Dumbledore paying you?"

            She startled, not receiving the one question she was dreading.  Something like relief began to creep into the back of her mind.  "How much is Dumbledore paying me?"

            "Yes," he stated matter-of-factly, backing up about a foot, "to cover for her."

            "Her?"

            "_Her._"  He scoffed at the confusion on her face.  "I ask for two reasons.  First, you should consider if that money is enough compensation to risk turning me down.  After all, your safety is at risk.  Is _she_ worth it?"  A.M. stared at him, wide-eyed, not quite comprehending this change in events.  "Second, you should consider if that money is enough compensation to make up for Voldemort discovering your little conspiracy.  Because he will find out.  And when he does, not even I will be able to save you."

            "I don't understand.  Who is _she_?"  She tried to feign naivety.  "And what money?"

            "Oh, A.M., you know.  The girl with the violet eyes.  The one you're trying to protect.  The one you're being paid to pretend to be.  Where is she?"

            She tried to keep her outlet of breath from being heard.  Surely they knew and this was all one big joke.  "How do you know I'm just pretending?" A.M. asked Draco coyly, giving the best acting job of her life.

            "Because Dumbledore wouldn't be stupid enough to stash her at Hogwarts."  It was true.  Voldemort and the Death Eaters were unaware that the girl they seeked was hidden in this very castle.  The secret was still safe, as long as A.M. played along.  That mysterious girl was protected, though it was now A.M.'s head on the chopping block.

            "Look, they didn't tell me where she was hiding.  I just get a check in the mail."

            "And what happens if you get caught?"

            She shrugged in what she hoped looked like a nonchalant manner.  "I get fired, I guess."

            Draco smiled.  If it wasn't for ice-cold blue of his eyes, he might actually seem friendly, even handsome.  But one look into his face revealed that he, like all of Voldemort's true followers, was dead inside.  "And if you get caught by Voldemort?"

            She pushed past him, her courage finally returning.  "I don't need you to spell it out, Malfoy.  I understand the deal: my company for your silence.  Meet me outside the Gryffindor Tower before the dance."

            "Wear something… revealing," the Slytherin called behind her, reminding A.M. that she had absolutely nothing formal.  Though she should have been angry about Malfoy's coercion and blatant sexual harassment, she was simply grateful that the girl's secret was safe.  Still, she had been unaware that Draco was a Death Eater.  What did this mean for the plan?  And did Dumbledore know?

            As A.M. wandered the halls, too lazy to walk back to Gryffindor Tower, yet finding it too early to go to dinner, she pondered why Severus would tell Malfoy where she'd been hiding out.  Understandably, he would like his two favorite students to share friendly, even romantic feelings, but he was totally disregarding the plan.  Snape was still considered a faithful Death Eater, so surely he knew Draco was also a member.  Did he also have other, less transparent motives?  For the first time, A.M. began to doubt her mentor's loyalty.

            Draco's words also ate at her insecurities.  Had Dumbledore known that Voldemort would have considered Hogwarts too easy a target to hide the girl and used that to his advantage, or was it just dumb luck?  A.M. had heard that the headmaster was one of the greatest wizards to ever live, but so far she remained unimpressed.  She only hoped that it was strategy that kept her alive, not blind guessing.

            The bustle picking up in the halls alerted her that dinner was about to begin, but she decided to use the time to instead pack up her things.  She wasn't planning to go anywhere, but she'd be ready just in case.  It was more for reassurance than practicality.

            On her way back up to the tower, she passed Hermione.  A.M. wanted to wave, but the two boys flocking the girl's sides dashed any hopes of talking with her.  Ron sneered at A.M. as he wrapped a hand around his date's waist.  Harry didn't even look at her, crushing her where she stood.

            It took only a few minutes to pack up her belongings.  There was a hairbrush, some old, dirty robes, and an extra toothbrush.  Recently A.M. learned to live with little, very different from the lavish lifestyle of her younger years.  In those days, money was no object and A.M. had never wanted for anything for more than a day.  Of course, five years was long enough for a person to get used to anything.

            Lastly, she pulled a sword sheath from a drawer and threw it into the knapsack.  The sword to it hung in Voldemort's childhood home.  A.M., despite Harry's own impressions, had never killed anyone her entire life.  However, five years ago, she had promised herself revenge.  That sword, a family heirloom Voldemort had taken from her home, was what she would use to get it. 

            Sitting on her bed, she tried to slow her breathing.  Packing did little to assuage A.M.'s anxieties.  She'd run for so long, but it had done nothing.  What would more running do, except tire her?  She laid her head on her pillow, meaning only to rest her eyes, but almost instantly fell into sleep.

            "A.M.," a voice whispered in the dark, an arm shaking her from her nap.

            She pushed the hand away, barely registering its existence.  "Just ten more minutes, kay?" she mumbled.

            "No, A.M., it's time.  Back door."

            Her eyes flew open to see Snape standing over her, his face tight with a rare worry.

            "Severus, can't I just stay?"

            "Back door," he whispered, walking out of the room, leaving only the silence. 

            The panic, washed away in sleep, returned in a roaring full force.  A.M. did everything she could to stop herself from hyperventilating.  She considered getting dressed, but decided not to waste the time. 

            She grabbed her knapsack and threw her bare feet on the floor, ready to run.  But she would not get the chance to run.  As her feet touched the rough stones, they began to sink.  "Help!" she cried, hoping Snape could still hear her.

            She tried to push against the floor to free her trapped limbs, but it simply swallowed her hands as well.  Now she was stuck on hands and knees in the cobblestone, wearing only her panties, a quite humorous situation otherwise.  "Please help!" she called again.

            She heard footsteps coming, but it certainly wasn't Severus.  The heavy plodding grew louder as the person grew closer.  When they reached the bedroom door, they stopped.  Three knocks resounded through the room, hurting her ears and stopping her pulse.  "Please…" she squeaked out from her tight throat.  "Please just go away."

            "I've come for you…"

            "No, please just go away," A.M. sobbed furiously, fighting with all her strength to free herself from the floor.  She did not want to see the face on the other side of the door.

            "It's time to go home."

            "No, just leave!" she screamed as the door unbolted.

            A.M.'s eyelids flew open to find herself safe and sound in her bed.  A quick feel proved that she still wore the clothes she fell asleep in and certainly wasn't stuck in the floor.  Still, her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and she could barely stop her head from spinning.  She'd never had such a realistic dream and hoped not to again. 

            "Hello?" she called toward the door, just to make sure there really wasn't anyone there.  No answer.  Laughing at herself, A.M. decided to grab a pumpkin juice from the kitchen downstairs.  Sure, it was a trek, but hopefully there would be some leftovers from the night before.  She grabbed for the bag next to the bed, but after consideration, left it where it lay.

As A.M. began reached the bottom of the spiral staircase, she heard some voices in the common room that stopped her in her tracks.  "So," she heard Dean's disembodied voice, "who are you going with to the dance?"

"Haven't got a date yet," replied Harry.  A.M. felt a stabbing pain in her chest and, while purely emotional, it still knocked the wind out of her.  It wasn't because of another girl or engagement that he'd turned her down.  It was purely out of hatred.  He hated her.

"Why not go with Hermione?  I'm sure she'd go in a heartbeat if you asked her."

A.M. heard Ron clear his throat.  "She's already going with someone else."

"Neville?" Dean inquired.

"No, stupid.  With me." 

"Hermione's going with you, Weasley?  Are you sure?"

Ron huffed.  "Yeah, yeah, I don't know why that's such a surprise to you.  Besides, she's tons better than some of the girls who've asked Harry."  A.M. was struck with the realization that Harry had already informed his best friend of her rather embarrassing invitation.

"Shut up Ron," Harry huffed.

"Well yeah," Dean replied.  "I'd go with Hermione if I got the chance."  He paused.  "Who asked you, Harry?"

"None of your business.  If I wanted anyone to know, I'd make an announcement."  While she had been through many difficult experiences in her life, nothing prepared her for the feelings of rejection coursing through her veins.  She felt ill, and only hoped no one would come down the stairs and catch her spying.

"I'll tell you," Ron reassured. 

"Good God, Ron, don't you ever shut up?"  A.M. was slightly relieved that at least Harry didn't want to take part in that gossip.

The redhead chuckled.  "It was that Slytherin-Should-Be, A.M..  What was she thinking: that a Death Eater could go to the dance with a Gryffindor?"

"A.M. asked you?" Seamus, who must have just arrived, chimed in.

"Yeah," Harry admitted grudgingly. 

"You should have said yes.  She's drooling for you.  One word and you could have gotten into her pants."  All the boys laughed and she could hear the slap of high-fives.  Shock stopped her in her spot.  _'How could anyone be so cruel?'_  While A.M. wasn't entirely clueless, she had never experienced the pain inherent of high school years.  The beginning of tears blurred her vision, but she continued to listen. 

Soon Harry was deep into the story of that morning.  She heard a reluctance in his voice and hoped that it was his conscience.  Surely, he didn't normally act this way.  "Then she gives me this cheap necklace and says it used to be her mom's, but she wants me to have it."  Snickers resounded, merely reassuring Harry.  "Like I'm going to wear some stupid necklace.  'It will bring you good luck,'" he mimicked in a high, whining voice. 

"Probably sold herself to You-Know-Who to get that thing," Seamus interrupted.  Once again, laughter erupted all around.

"Nah," Harry replied, "I bet her mom whored herself to Malfoy's dad to buy it."

That was the final straw.  A.M. stormed down the stairs into full view of the four in the common room, grabbed Harry by the shoulder, and swung him around.  "Who do you think you are?" she yelled.  "I have put up with you, Harry Potter, for as long as I can take!  I have tried being nice to you, I have tried standing up for you in Snape's class, and I have tried apologizing to you!  I don't know what else I could have done to show you that I truly cared for you as a person!"  She was unaware of the crowd slowly gathering around her, obviously hot for a fight.

'But you continue to terrorize me.  And I can take that.  I'm strong and I can handle anything you do or say.  But when you talk about my mother…" her throat tightened at the memory, "you have gone too far."  The tears spilt onto her cheeks.  "When you talk about my DEAD mother, when you cheapen the memory of my mother who DIED trying to save me from my fate, you have crossed the line!"

Harry was so surprised he just stood there for a minute.  No one spoke.  No one moved.  Finally he stammered, "I'm… I'm s-s-sorry."

'No, Harry Potter, I'm _sorry_.  I'm _sorry_ I ever thought you were kind and brave.  I'm sorry I thought you could ever have feelings for me.  I'm sorry that I dirtied myself by trying to make you care for me.  Because I despise you!  You are cruel and arrogant and everything you complain about in other people!  And that makes you a hypocrite.  So I despise you for that as well!  

She felt her anger fading, but when she saw the necklace dangling from his frozen fingers, it returned in full force.  She snatched it from him and continued her tirade.  "Harry, I hope you're happy.  I hope you're pleased that you were able to hurt a person so deeply she never wants to hear your voice again.  Because it's true: every word you speak is like a dagger in my chest." 

She turned towards the girls' stairs, but stopped to face him one last time.  "And if you ever speak ill of my mother again, I will strike you down where you stand."  With that she left the boy there, openmouthed, and flew to the solitude of her room.


	14. Broken Dreams and Broken Glass

**Chapter 14: Broken Dreams and Broken Glass**[C1] ****

**Author's Note:  **_Sorry about my procrastination with this chapter.  I know I promised to have it out soon, but I recently had a death in my family to which I had to attend.  Also, I saw the new Harry Potter movie when it came out; it was stunning visually, but I prefer my movies to follow canon more closely.  I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks._

            The other students made room for A.M.'s swift exit, but other than that simple gesture, they remained generally stony.  Then the whispering started.  "Get out of here," Harry growled at them. 

            "Man," Ron giggled nervously, "you probably shouldn't have done that.  It's pretty bad when you have a Death Eater out to get you,"

            "Ron, just quit it, won't you?"  Hermione snapped and, surprisingly, Ron shrugged and walked toward the stairs to the boys' bedrooms.  Most of the crowd followed, so Harry took the clamor as his chance to exit from the Gryffindor Tower, slamming the door behind him.

            What had he done?  Sure, A.M. was a Death Eater, but did she deserve what he had said about her?  He hadn't even thought about his words before they spilled from his mouth, but now he would do anything to take them back.  He'd never done something so childish or cruel as to maliciously sully one's name.

            But what struck him was that she was an orphan, just like him.  She didn't have her parents to greet her at the end of the summer or cheer when she graduated from Hogwarts.  Just like him, she would never experience the joy that came from having her mom cook breakfast on Sundays or dad teach her the best broom techniques.  With that on her head, what Harry had done was unspeakable.

            "Well, are you done acting the royal shit?"  Hermione grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, her eyes narrowed.

            "Look, Hermione," Harry explained, "I feel really bad-"

            "Oh, sure you do.  How could you be so cruel, Harry?  What happened to the friend I used to know?"

            He shrugged, avoiding her glare, hands thrust in his pockets.  "I don't know."

            "Well, are you going to go apologize, or do I have to make you?"

            He blurted, "I already said I was sorry, and she just got even angrier."

            "If that's what you consider an apology, you're dafter than I thought."

"I can't really apologize, she'd never listen.  Besides, I can't go up to the girls' dormitories anyways."

            Hermione crossed her arms.  "I just can't believe you Harry.  You acted terribly."

            "Look, I know, okay?"  He didn't need a lecture to make him feel bad.

            "Well," she replied, "you apparently don't, because you wouldn't have acted like that otherwise."

            "Hey," he told her sharply, "haven't you ever just wanted other people to like you?  To think you're cool?  Are you happy being a geek?"

            Her eyes flashed, but she ignored his insult.  "Harry, neither of us will ever be the most popular students in school.  But I would never betray my friends to reach that status."

            He broke under her reprimand.  "I know," he moaned, leaning against the wall.  "How do I fix this, Hermione?"  His temples pulsed as he raised his fingers to his forehead.

            "Are you really, truly sorry?" she asked him, eying him carefully.  He nodded earnestly.  She paused in thought.  "I'll go talk to A.M. in a little bit," she told him, putting a nurturing arm around him.  "Please don't ever act like this again-"

            "I won't."

            "Let me finish, Harry.  I pride myself in having such wonderful friends, but when I see you act so prejudice and cruel, it makes it hard to feel like that."

            The guilt in Harry's throat intensified.  "Hermione…" he whispered, choking on embarrassing tears.

            "I know that you're hurting, Harry.  I forgive you and I'm sure that A.M. will too."

            "But it's not just that.  I don't ever feel like myself anymore."  The tears were now flowing freely onto Hermione's immaculate shirt, but she did nothing to brush them away. 

            "I…" she struggled to find the words.  "Harry, I can't say anything to make your past go away.  I can only offer you my support and promise that I'll always be there for you."

            "Why can't things ever be easy for us?"

            "Would you want them to be?" she asked him sadly.

            "I just want all of this Voldemort stuff behind us.  No more dark lords or Death Eaters." 

            "Someday, Harry.  Someday."  He cried silently for awhile, but was finally able to regain control enough to walk back to the tower, Hermione at his side.  They embraced in the common room, but didn't need words to express themselves.  Harry hated that Hermione felt sorry for him, but appreciated her support and friendship.  "Goodnight," she whispered as she headed upstairs.  "Sleep well."

            He replied, "Goodnight," and headed up to his dorm room.

            On the rare occasion that Harry dreamed, he only saw one vision and that night was no exception.  Sirius was alive and well, standing in front of a house in the country.  Harry flew into the front yard, dropped his broom, and joined his godfather's side.  "What do you think?" his mentor asked.

            "Absolutely perfect," Harry replied, eyeing the smallish cottage.  And it was perfect.

            Sirius told him, "Real steal on the market," as his face faded in and out as it only can in dreams.  "But I have something to show you."

            And inside, the same surprise was waiting, leaving no shock when he saw his parents, alive and unharmed, in the living room.  As always, Sirius explained that they'd been hiding there for last 16 years, but only now, after Voldemort's defeat could they expose themselves to their only child. 

            But that's where it always ended, leaving Harry longing for the warmth and comfort of sleep.  He always wanted more, but could never reach it within his subconscious.  But this night was different, as after the dream was over, he did not awake in his dorm bed, but rather found himself transported to a room he recognized well.  Voldemort sat in a chair by the fire, drinking a some sort of cognac or other liquor in a fluted glass. 

            It was obvious that he was angry about something, but was keeping his emotions tightly contained.  "Wormtail," he hissed, calling his servant to his side.  Harry felt his mind recoil at the sight of his parents' betrayer.  "Wormtail, what word do you have of her?"

            "There's been no sightings of her anywhere," he sniffed, "and we've _taken care _of any leads we've had.  Nothing."

            "Dumbledore has hidden her away, I'm sure of it." 

            "None of our insiders at the Ministry have said anything-"

            "No, not the Ministry," Voldemort sighed impatiently.  "Dumbledore.  He's behind her disappearance."

            "Perhaps, my lord, we could forget about her and move on with the plan."

            The room went cold as an icy wind blew out the fire.  "Forget about her?  Forget about her?!  Voldemort stood and faced Wormtail, the lackey cowering under his master's silhouette.  And waste the last five years?!"  The flames roared back up in the fireplace.

            "I… I'm sorry."

            "I don't want any rock left unturned," he growled, his armchair flipping over at the wave of his hand and finally coming to a rest on the oriental rug.  "She _will_ be found and when she is, you will bring her to me." 

            "Yes, master.  How foolish of me to suggest otherwise." 

Voldemort turned to face his most loyal servant, when he caught his own visage in the mirror.  A slow smile crossed his face.  "Well, Wormtail, I see we have a spy."

            "Harry, Harry!"  He woke up, sweat pouring from his body.  "Harry," Ron shook him.

            Harry looked at the faces of his worried classmates surrounding his bed.  "What's going on?"

            "You were having a nightmare," Neville told him.  "From the sound of it, it was bad."  His friends stood there, expectantly as the room swayed and spun around him.

            "I've got to get out of here," Harry murmured, pushing past Ron and heading for the stairs. 

            "Harry-" someone called as the door closed, but he ignored it.

Instead, he once again headed for the door and roamed the halls, desperate to slow his mind.  He knew what girl Voldemort was talking about, he could _feel _who she was, like his nemesis' anger.  But no matter how hard Harry tried, he was unable to conjure up a name or image.  She could be anyone in Hogwarts, or for that matter, in Little Whinging or anywhere else he'd been.  She could even be someone he'd seen on the tele, or even a muggle.  _'But what on earth would Voldemort want with a muggle?'_  All he knew was that he had seen her before.

            "Harry, isn't it a bit late for you to be out wandering the halls?" Startled, he spun to see Professor Kenchi at the door of his classroom.

            "I, uh, couldn't sleep."

            The teacher smiled mysteriously.  "It seems to me that you were, but something woke you up.  Would I be correct?"

            "Uh, yes."

            Kenchi stepped to the side of the door.  "I usually have a lesson at this time, but tonight is unfortunately a no-show.  Would you perhaps like to begin working on occlumency?"

            An idea popped into Harry's head.  If he could figure out how to stop the dreams from coming into his head through occlumency, couldn't he use it to look further into the dreams as well?  Before he could even ponder why the professor would have a lesson so late at night, he nodded his head.

            "All right," Kenchi told him.  "Let's get started."

Unable to even make it to her bed, A.M. collapsed against the rough-hewn door of her chamber.  Huge racking sobs jerked through her body, making it impossible to breathe.  "Oh God.." she moaned.  Why had she been cursed like this?  Marked a Death Eater before she even knew what one was, she had been tossed a life that did not fit her, reminiscent of Harry trying to fit his cousin's clothes.  No matter where she turned, how things would end, she had been given too much responsibility, too much to deal with.  It was torturing her soul.

            "Why?! Why?!"  The anger at the boys' joking words coursed through her veins.  It was true, what people said.  High school kids were cruel and self-motivated.  None of those boys were like that on their own, but when put in a place of competition, the gloves came off and no one was spared.  It was a kiss-and-tell syndrome that had plagued the world for centuries.  It was simply unfair that the girl always got the raw end of it.

A.M.'s head hurt with the intensity of her thoughts, sending a pulse through her forehead that couldn't be stopped. She struggled to her dresser, where a pitcher of water sat waiting. Perhaps a cooling washcloth to the face could end the headache, if not the memories careening through her mind.

That was when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.  Her father's mocking eyes stared back at her.  They pierced into her mind and whispered the horrible truth.  She would always look like her mother, but have her father's eyes.  A.M.'s eyes damned her to a life of extremes.  Even if she could hide them from everyone else, she could not hide them from herself.  Her mother had known that, but couldn't keep her from the truth forever.

Why her?  She did not ask to be a Death Eater or her mother's daughter or her father's child.  She did not ask for the fate that waited in her future.  And she certainly didn't ask for the cruelty she'd endured downstairs.  Her emotions finally boiled over.  "God Dammit!" she yelled, slamming her hand into her reflection.

            Glass instantly shattered around her and fell to the floor in long, sharp splinters.  A.M. could see the pink smears on them and the marble countertop: her blood.  It began dripping languidly down her wrist and arm as she pushed her hair from her forehead.  Soon a small puddle was forming on the dark cherry floorboards.

            Once again the tears started, flowing in rhythm to the pulsing stream from her arm.  She slid down the wall, holding her knees to her chest in the one protection her fragile body could afford her.  The only sounds were her heavy breaths and the relentless dripping of her bleeding cut.  She reveled in a sadistic satisfaction at the pain coursing through her nerves.

            A.M. suddenly heard insistent knocking at the door, but was too dazed to know how to respond.  She could feel just her anger and her sadness, and the need to cry it out of her body.  Only a shout of, "A.M., are you alright?!" brought her back.

            Hermione stood at the door, opened without permission, and when she saw the glass and blood, she gasped.  "Oh, A.M., I was coming up to talk and then I heard the crash and I thought… I thought- I didn't know what to think!  What on earth happened?"  She looked at the mirror and her mouth dropped open.  "Did you do that?"

"Umm…" A.M. replied in a singsong voice she didn't recognize, "it was nothing, really."

Hermione cried, "Nothing?" and grabbed A.M.'s injured arm by the wrist.  "We need to get you to Madame Pomfrey, quick!"

            "No, no," A.M. whispered,

            "A.M., I heard what happened downstairs.  Those boys were jerks.  I've never seen Ron and Harry act that way.  It seems like this year they've… well, become high school boys.  I don't feel the same way they do, I promise.  Now, let's go to the infirmary-"

            "I'm not going," A.M. replied sullenly, then stood to clean up the mess from the mirror.

            "You're hurt!  What do you mean you're not going?"

            "I don't need to have everyone fussing over me.  Believe me, I've been through a lot worse."

            Hermione joined A.M. on the floor.  "At least let me help you clean up.  You know, I talked with Harry and he just feels-"

            Panic suddenly struck A.M., shaking her from her daze.  "No, I really don't need your help."

            "Nonsense, it will only take a minute to get all this," Hermione answered, not sensing the panic in the other girl's voice.  "Anyway, Harry says-"

            "Then I can certainly do it without you.  I'd like to be alone now."

            "A.M., don't be ridiculous.  You're hurt.  Just sit down and let me take care of this."

            "I don't need your help!"  A.M. was practically shouting now.  "Get out!"  She grabbed the other girl by the collar of her shirt and tried to drag her to the door, but only succeeded in splattering Hermione and the floor with fresh droplets of blood.

            "A.M., you're really hurt.  Let go and we'll go see Madame Pomfrey."

            "Get the hell out," she told Hermione tersely in desperation.

            "What is wrong with you?" Hermione asked.  "I'm just trying to… trying to…" A.M.'s heart sank.  She followed Hermione's gaze to the piece of mirror in her petite hand.  Hermione was holding it at such an angle that A.M.'s entire face was visible to both of them.  Hermione was staring at A.M.'s eyes.  Her violet eyes.

* * *

[C1]Chapter 14


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